


The Consuming Flame

by NothingToDismay



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Past, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 52,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingToDismay/pseuds/NothingToDismay
Summary: The pilgrimage of the Chosen Undead and an exploration of the characters in Dark Souls.





	1. Escaping the Cell

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is my first work, so I hope you all enjoy.  
> Given the complex lore and how open to interpretation it is I'm sure there will be a few things we'll disagree on lore-wise, but I promise I'm going to do my best to keep true to the lore and characterization.  
> Comments are welcome!

I can hear the rats scuttle through the walls of the asylum. I sit stock still, watching the crack in the wall they usually emerge from. They’ve been my only source of food for the last few...damn. Months, maybe? I knew this not too long ago. I glance at the tally marks on the wall. Dozens, I think. But I can’t remember if a tally is a day, a week, a month, a year. I blink and the cell is dark. A grimace stretches over my face. I’m going Hollow. I know that for sure. That and the key I swiped from the fat warden on my way into the asylum doesn’t fit into my door. At least I have these rings from someone for comfort. Gifts from friends.  
I look down at my hand to admire the rings and my breath catches in my throat. My skin - No, that can’t be right. I yank off my black leather glove to get a better look. Gods, it looks like a dead man’s skin. Panic starts to prickle my skull. This can’t be what happens to me. I...I was someone. Someone important. I can’t go Hollow here, forgotten and condemned and- a creak. A door being opened! I lift my head up in time to see a Hollow corpse crash into the floor of my cell, sunlight streaming in from the top. I look up to find a knight in full plate armor leaning over the hole where the jailers would drop food in before...can’t remember. Not important now. The knight looks me over carefully before backing away from the hole and continuing on.  
I turn my attention to the corpse. There’s a key dangling from his tattered robes and a broken sword in his hand. A cautious hope begins to swell in my chest as I pick both items off the body and slide it into the keyhole in my cell door. With a slow turn it clicks and I gently push it open. I can hardly believe it. I’m getting out of here! The joy quickly turns to a twisting sensation in my gut when I see more Hollows down the hall. What the hell are they doing roaming around? How did they get out? My fingers flex around the grip of the broken sword as I creep past them, tensed for an attack. When none comes from shells that were once people I rush up the stairs at the opposite end of the hall. 

 

Water seeps into my leather boots but I couldn’t care less. I’m going to be free soon. I’ll get to see...see someone. As soon as I find someone to fix my hollowing I’ll remember everything. I splash through the dark hallways, wandering almost blindly, until I’m spat out in the asylum courtyard. I squint in the harsh sunlight and pull my hood up further around my face to block out the light. After a few seconds my eyes have adjusted and I pull my hood down. My gloved hand runs over my withered head and I can’t help but take a moment to pity myself.  
I pull my hood back up and take stock. I’ve got a broken sword, two rings, and my black leather armor with a cloth hood and mask. I’m in the asylum courtyard, surrounded by high walls and a set of steps leading to gigantic double doors. In front of the steps is a coiled sword planted in a pile of ash, a weak flame sputtering at the base. I approach the bonfire and feel a pleasant heat radiate from it. I extend a hand to warm myself when a flash of pain makes me gasp. The fire roars and sparks flare up from it, a larger flame now dancing around the sword. Strength begins to return to my limbs. I feel like I’m being restored just by existing around the bonfire. I enjoy the sensation for a few moments. Gods, I don’t know the last time I was allowed to relax.  
Once I feel better than I have in ages I back away from the bonfire and look to the double doors. Only way out is through, I guess. I place my hands on the cold iron and push. Hard. The hinges creak and no small amount of rust cracks and a light dusting falls on my shoulders. How long has it been since anyone’s been through here? I can’t remember the last time an actual human jailer came around. Something is pressing against my head like it’s trying to escape - a memory, I’m sure - but I can’t quite bring it out.  
The doors swing open into a large entryway with sturdy columns and high ceiling. I see the exit on the other side. A sigh of relief escapes my lungs and I take a step forward, only for an ungodly roar and earth-shaking mass to drop in front of me. The beast is a lump of quivering yellow-green skin with two vestigial wings fixed to its back and a club the size of a tree in its grasp. It roars again and swipes its club at me, missing me by inches. Before I know it my legs are carrying me at the monstrosity almost of their own will. I dive under another devastating swing of the club and come up between its legs, driving my broken blade up into its undercarriage.  
It doesn’t even leave a scratch.  
A mighty fist blindsides me and I sail through the air for a brief second before I painfully smack the stone wall with a crunch in my sword arm. With gritted teeth, I scramble to my feet and desperately think of a solution as the beast lumbers closer. No way will I be able to kill it with the broken blade and arm. The double doors where I just came from are still open, I could run that way - but what’s to stop it from simply battering down the wall and following me? I leap out of the way of a downward stroke of the club. A chunk of stone strikes my shoulder and send me spinning. The solution appears as I fall to the floor: A small doorway that was right behind me. I get to my feet and sprint through, right as another blow chases after me and hits the doorway, jarring a small metal door loose that crashes downwards and cuts me off from the monster.  
Using the wall for support I take a number of deep, slow breaths to calm my racing heart. The beast doesn’t seem interested in pursuing me beyond the door, so I’ve shaken him off for now. Pain is radiating from my broken arm, which dangles limply midway down the forearm. Damn it. I grab the broken sword with my still-healthy left hand and head down a short staircase, poised for an attack but finding a bonfire.  
After another sting of pain, the warm, comfortable feeling returns and I take a seat next to the flame. My eyes close and I allow myself to relax for a moment before pushing myself to my feet with my right arm. It doesn’t register for a few seconds until I’m calf-deep in a small pool of water and heading for a hall, but when it does I stop and look down. My arm...it’s fixed. Completely healed. My skin still looks like it’s made from rotten fruit but everything’s intact. Huh. That’s a good thing to have on hand. I step into the hallway and immediately jump back after an arrow whizzes past and nicks my arm.  
Archers. Lovely. Just what I needed. I poke my head around the entry for a split second - just enough to get a look - and pull it back in time to avoid another arrow. Long hallway with one archer at the far end, lined with cells. Some don’t look like I can get in, but I’ll be able to use at least a couple for cover. I grip my broken sword tight and spin into the narrow hall.


	2. Oscar of Astora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our first encounter with a not-Hollow character.

I make it three steps before ducking an arrow and rolling into an open cell. The corpse of a guard lies slumped against the wall, a small target shield clutched in his grip. Better than nothing, I suppose. I rip it from the body and slide it onto my left arm. After another quick glance around the empty cell I run back out with my shield raised. My boots pound against the cobblestone, distance flying underneath me as I race to reach the Hollow archer. An arrow strikes my shield and simply reflects to the side rather than embedding itself. As soon as I get more than halfway down the hall the Hollow turns tail and runs off into a side room. Behind where he was standing is another dead guard, this one with a wide, single-edged serrated knife. I look around to make sure I’m alone before taking off my glove and running my finger across the blade. With almost no effort it cuts the skin. This’ll work. I drop the broken sword and put the glove back on. 

An arrow strikes the cobblestone as I inch up the steps the Hollow ran up. It knows I’m coming. I feel like I should be nervous. Rattled, at the very least. But I don’t feel any of that. I just feel determined. No fear, no hesitation. Just one goal in mind: Escape the Undead Asylum and find...someone. Someone I made a promise to. The someone or someones who gave me my rings. 

I charge up the steps and reflect an arrow off my shield. I close the distance between me and the Hollow in a few short steps and slash with my blade. It slices easily through thin, sunken skin and rakes against bone. Before the Hollow can react I stab the knife upwards, through its jaw and into its skull. It goes limp instantly and I let it simply slide off of my knife. As soon as the body hits the ground its eyes and mouth glow with a fierce light. Some wispy essence leaks out from the light, slowly at first, then the leak turns into a flood and it races towards me. The essence simply floats through my armor and skin and with it I feel a slight boost in energy - like stepping from a freezing tundra into a warm tent. 

The light dies and with a slight lurch I realize what just happened. The soul. I just absorbed the Hollow’s soul. How do I know that? Everything before the Asylum is a muddled, gray mess, shapes and whispers attempting to break free. 

Shaking my head I push onwards, over the Hollow corpse and out onto a balcony overlooking the Asylum courtyard. The way to the left is blocked off by rubble, so I hang a right and spot more steps leading upwards. Shield raised, I creep upwards. A flash of gray is all I see before a ball of solid iron slams into me, sending me off the side of the stairs and onto the descending set to the side. I hear the ball crash through the wall and a human cry out - not a Hollow scream. 

Cursing my fortune I push myself to my feet. Miraculously, the worst injury I seem to have is a broken rib, although I hurt all over. I shake off a limp and move through the newly-created hole in the wall into a walled-off area of the Asylum to find the knight who dropped me the key to my cell leaning against the wall in a narrow patch of sunlight. 

He slowly turns to look at me, as if loathe to tear his gaze away from the sun. “Oh...it’s you. You’re no Hollow. Thank goodness.” He shifts slightly and groans in pain. “I’m done for, I’m afraid. My insides are damaged. I’ll die soon...and lose my sanity. I can feel it coming.” A poorly-hidden note of fear escapes through his mask of stoicism. “What can I do to help?” My voice, not used in what feels like a lifetime, comes out coarse and raspy, like sandpaper learned how to speak. “Nothing. I can offer no more to the world. But you...I wish to ask something of you. We are both Undead. Hear me out, will you?” “Of course.” Who would deny a dying man his last wish? 

“Thank you. Regrettably, I have failed in my mission, but perhaps you can keep the torch lit. There is an old saying in my family: ‘Thou who art Undead art chosen, and in thine exodus from the Undead Asylum-’” “‘-Maketh pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords, and when thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know.’” I finish it at the same time as the knight, who cocks his head. “Are you from Astora?” “I...I don’t know.” “Only those from Astora know the saying. Tell me, what is your name?” A single word leaps out of the fog. “Lucky.” The knight bursts into laughter, which quickly turns into pained coughing. “I’m sorry. Truly.” “Think nothing of it.” “My name is Oscar. Remember it, would you, Lucky?” “I will do my best.” “Thank you. Now I can die with hope in my heart...oh, and take this. An Estus flask. An old Undead favorite.” Oscar reaches to his belt and pulls a bright, glowing flask from a small leather pouch. I take the flask, warm to the touch, and place it in a similarly-sized pocket in my black leather armor. “And this, too. It opens the door to freedom.” I take another key and add it to my keyring. 

“Now go. I will die soon, and I would hate to harm you after death. Farewell, and stay true to your name.” I can’t help but feel as if the knight is smirking slightly under his helm. “Farewell, Oscar.” I step from what is soon to be Oscar’s final resting place and take a look at the Estus flask. It weighs almost nothing, as if the contents are lighter than air. Out of curiosity I open the top and raise it to my lips. A mouthful of sweet liquid rushes out of the flask and I feel like I did by the bonfire: calm and at peace. I even feel better and my rib seems to have mended. Upon placing the top back on the flask I realize that I’ve drained about half of its contents. I quickly put it back in my pocket and make a mental note to ration it out. The last thing I want is to be out when I really need it. 

Once again, with my shield raised and ears straining for the sound of heavy iron balls rolling down the stairs to ruin my day. Thankfully, it seems to have just been the one. I easily dispatch the Hollow at the top of the stairs and unlock the door with the key Oscar gave to me. Stepping out onto the third story balcony I can see the outside world and feel the breeze blowing onto the Asylum. Freedom - I can almost taste it. What else could possibly stand in my way?


	3. Clearing the Wall

I barely make it three steps onto the wall before I hear a pair of Hollows growl from around the corner. I scrap my shield against the stone wall to attract their attention. After a brief moment the sound of bare feet slapping against the ground draws near and the two Hollows turn the corner, broken swords gripped tight in their shriveled hands. Seems to be the weapon of choice around here. I lower myself into a fighting stance and switch my focus between the duo, deciding who’s going to be the first one to reach me. When they get within striking distance one clumsily lunges. I roll nimbly to the side, unhampered by my light armor and gear, and come up behind them. My knife plunges into the first one’s back and the Hollow collapses, barely catching on my razor-sharp blade. The second starts flailing wildly and I find myself backing up to avoid its crazed slashes. 

My back hits the wall right as the Hollow seems to run out of energy and ceases its assault. I raise my knife for the kill when the twang of a bowstring being released makes me instinctively duck and raise my shield. The arrow scrapes along the shield and I get away from the stretch of wall the archer stands on, right next to a large, open window. The remaining Hollow with a broken blade starts to groan louder and raise its sword. I’ve had enough of this. With all my force I slash at its arm, severing the paper-thin skin and cracking the brittle bone. The sword falls to the ground before it can do any damage. 

As soon as the Hollow’s been disarmed I slam my shield into its face. It gurgles and stumbles backed, dazed. I quickly turn it around and place my shield in the Hollow’s back. My boots drive into the ground and I veer the stunned Hollow around the corner and past the window. I hear the twang of the bow again and an arrowhead sprouts an inch from my face. My living shield crumples and I find myself face-to-face with the archer. Seconds later the archer joins its fellows in death. 

I quickly check myself for injuries. Satisfied when I find none, I keep moving and am shocked to find a guard in worn, half-broken armor in the next room, head leaning against an iron cell door. Anger bubbles up in my chest. “Thanks for your help!” I growl. “Fat lot of good you and your friends turned out to be. There are Hollows all over this damned place. I almost died here, no thanks to you.” The guard leans off the door and turns his head slightly towards me. “What, now you’re going to try and lock me back up? Don’t even think about it. I’m gone.” The guard turns around fully and my anger turns to momentary fear when I see he’s become a Hollow, too. His sword appears to have been well-maintained, along with his shield. 

I grip my shield tightly and tense up as the crazed guard shambles closer, shield held high. It looks like some old fighting instincts remain. My knife is sharp, but it lacks the weight to punch through the remaining armor on his head and shoulders. I’m going to have to find an opening. When a quick slash makes me leap backwards, I realize that might be easier said than done. Unless...I can make an opening. 

The guard makes a thrust and I back up again. I’m going to have to time this right. Too early and I leave myself wide open. Too late and that sword will happily carve a new hole right through my chest. I bounce on the balls of my feet, darting in and out of range, trying to goad the undead guard into a wide slash. After a couple narrowly-avoided thrusts and taking the front of his shield to my gut, the Hollow finally obliges with a slash. 

My small shield flashes upwards. I feel the sword catch on one of the four small bumps on the target shield’s surface and I know I have it. I send my arm up high and the sword goes with it, making the Hollow stumble back as the weight of his sword carries him unexpectedly back, exposing his unarmored chest. I swiftly step in close and drive my knife under and behind his ribcage, slicing through organs and quickly putting an end to the Hollow guard. The light of his soul begins to shine in his eyes and I plant my foot on his chest to free my knife. 

I try the door the guard was leaning against to find it locked. A brief search of the bodies yields no keys. I look over the waist-high wall on the balcony but the fall will kill me for sure. I chew on the inside of my lip and try to think. If the guards are all Hollowed or dead along with the residents of the Undead Asylum...it wasn’t a break that set the Hollows free and cast rubble everywhere. It was the Asylum itself falling apart. I’ve been here a long time. Long enough for architectural supports to rot and for once-human guards to Hollow completely. Am I the only sane one left? Well, maybe not completely sane, but not fully Hollowed? 

I hear a roar behind me and the stone I’m standing on shakes. I turn around and see where the roar came from: the window the archer was standing by. I walk closer and realize it wasn’t a window at all, but a doorway. A stone bridge had run to the other side, but it’s collapsed now. On the ground floor is what destroyed it: the gigantic monster that had almost flattened me mere minutes ago. Right now it’s standing with its feet spread and glaring up at me. “Gods, you’re ugly,” I murmur. For a moment all we do is stand, staring at each other, as I try and think. 

The door to freedom is directly below me but shut and looks to be rusted closed, like the door I took to get into here. No way am I going to be able to force it open while that thing is still kicking. Not only that, I have no idea how to get down there without breaking both my legs. It’s a three-story drop. Unless I can find something else to land on before I hit the floor then I’m...hang on. That monster is pretty tall. At least fifteen feet. I can handle a fifteen-foot drop.

A smile starts to curl onto my lips. Yes, that’ll do nicely. My knife should be sharp enough to pierce through its hide, especially with the drop to help drive it in. Then again, I don’t know this thing’s anatomy. All its important organs could be stored in its tail. Then again again, eyes are pretty important, and if I can take those out the rest of this fight will tip a bit more in my favor. That’s good enough for me. I swing my arms to loosen up, take a deep breath, and step out into open air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you MrsLittletall for your comments and support!


	4. Escape

My boots are the first thing to land on the giant monster’s face. My knees buckle and I use the momentum from the fall to drive my knife as far as I can into its forehead. It’s jaw opens and an ear-piercing shriek(accompanied by a foul smell) fills the room as it stumbles to the side. That ought to have hurt him. I can’t help but smile and pull on my knife to free it. 

It doesn’t budge. 

My smile quickly vanishes as the monster careens around the room, slapping at its face to try and dislodge me. I dodge the gigantic hands as best I can and readjust my footing, keeping my body parts far away from the gnashing jaw snapping at me. I squeeze the grip on my knife and pull as hard as I can. It slides out maybe an inch and the beast roars again. Blood spurts from the wound I’ve made and I’m suddenly very thankful for the cloth around my nose and mouth. 

A great force smacks me from behind and I shoot forward, feet lifting up from their already-tenuous hold on the monster and flying over my head. On pure instinct my grip tightens on my dagger and my arm is almost yanked out of its socket as the knife holds fast. Enraged, the monster begins spinning around, trying to find the painful little insect dangling behind it. 

My hold on my knife begins to loosen as I’m spun around and around. I need to get down before I throw up, get smashed against a wall, or both. I force my shield arm forward and grab the knife, using it to pull my legs up and plant them against the monster’s back. “Come on, you bastard!” I curse the knife. With all my strength I pull it again. I feel the blade give. The monster stops spinning and I lose my footing, momentum throwing me to the side. 

I scramble back up and hold still for a moment as the monster makes no movement. Did...did I kill it? Sever some organ that controls spinning, nausea-inducing death? One foot lifts off the ground. It hovers for a moment, then steps. Backward. 

My blood runs cold as the beast moves backward. It finally realized it can crush me against the wall. I could risk dropping and making a run for it, but then I’d lose my knife. I can’t kill this thing with my fists. I have to get my knife free. “Come on, come on,” I mutter. My legs and arms strain with the effort. My knife budges another inch. I glance behind me as see how close I am to the wall. “Come on. COME ON!” A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins. The monster is closing in on the wall. It’s now or never. My limbs are shaking. “COME ON, YOU STUPID PIECE OF-” The knife suddenly pulls free. Air whistles in my ears for a fraction of a second before my back strikes the ground and the air shoots from my lungs. 

My mouth opens but all that escapes is a weak groan. I’m flat on the ground. Everything hurts. I feel the stone shake beneath me as the beast turns around. My hand scrabbles into my pocket and finds the Estus flask. With a shaking, frenzied hand, I bring the flask to my lips and pour the contents through my mask. My breath returns and I quickly get to my feet, turning to face the monster - and immediately leap to the side as it crashes to the floor. 

Stone is crushed under the sheer body weight of the creature, kicking up a cloud of dust. I close my eyes and bring my shield over my face, coughing violently. After a minute or so the dust settles and I get a look at the monster - or rather, what’s left of it. Its head has been cleaved in two. I didn’t pull the knife OUT, I pulled it THROUGH. 

I nudge it with my toe. No response. I...I think I just killed it. A rush of relief and joy floods my body, followed immediately by an overwhelming wave of nausea that I had been forcing down until now. I quickly turn away from the massive corpse and yank my mask down as a combination of spinning, stench, and mortal terror cause what little I had in my stomach to swiftly evacuate. I curse under my breath and use the last bit of Estus to wash out my mouth. Alright. That’s done with. I turn back to the monster in time to see patches of it glowing brightly and dissolving before it collapses all at once and a boost of energy zaps my body. 

When the light fades I find two things in the crater the monster had created: A key, and what I believe is a small black flame. I pick up the key and look at the flame. It’s a curious thing. It seems to have no fuel to burn, no heat, and yet it exists. I feel...strangely drawn to it. I reach out to touch the flame, to see what can be gleaned from feeling it, and it vanishes. Just like that. I blink, slightly disappointed. Oh, well. Can’t be helped, I suppose. I get to my feet and walk to the closed door. 

The new key fits into the lock and I hear an audible click when I turn it. Couldn't have opened it with the monster still alive anyway. Glad I didn’t try. I lean against the door and push it open. Cold air whips across the ground and I take a deep breath. I’m almost giddy. Free. Out of this damn place. My mind already feels sharper. And it’s all thanks to a single, brave Undead. Thank you, Oscar. I won’t forget you. As long as I stay standing, I promise I will remember you. 

I step out into the snowy ground outside of the asylum and begin walking up the hill, through ruined buildings and dead grass. “Maketh pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords,” I murmur to myself. “That’s all very well, but where the hell is that?” I reach the top of the hill to find a steep drop - and no bridge. Great. A sharp drop with no way down. A heavy sigh leaves my lungs and I turn back to the Asylum. Maybe there’s a way around it? I’m not too keen to look at the moment, however. The view up here is gorgeous and I think I’ve earned a rest. 

I turn back around to look over the terrain and am met with great black talons instead of the view. Before I can react a crow the size of a house scoops me up by my arms and hauls me into the sky. It tosses me up and I’m sure I’m about to be dashed on the rocks below when it catches me again, albeit in a more comfortable position on my back. Its wings beat against the wind and carry us high into the sky, far above the ground and far away from the Asylum that had imprisoned me for so long.

For a moment I consider fighting against the crow before dismissing it as suicide. I don’t know where it’s taking me, but as long as it’s away from the Asylum I really couldn’t care less. I adjust as much as I can and tuck my hands behind my head, watching the earth move beneath me and thoroughly enjoying my newfound freedom.


	5. Firelink Shrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get some insight into Lucky's past, as well a short conversation with a rather sad fellow.

The oak table in front of me reaches almost to my chin. The ornate floral patterns on the legs are made with gold which shines brightly and casts spots of light all around the room in the evening sun. I feel faintly nervous as I sit there, next to a man a great deal larger than me and across from five others judging us. I don't know how I know that or who they are - their faces keep shifting and it’s impossible to get a solid fix on them apart from their sex and size. Three are about my size, if a little taller, except for the petite woman on the far left end of the table they’re sitting at. The one in the middle if a good eight feet tall and the leader for certain. I get a strong sense of power from him. That is not a man to be trifled with. The last one judging me is a giant - literally. He’s massive and sitting in the back of the gargantuan hall we’re all residing in. 

The first thing that occurs to me is that this is a dream. Otherwise I’d be able to lock on to their faces and know what I’m doing here. If this was a dream, it would make sense as to why I can’t seem to move on my own. I’m fidgeting and looking around, true, but not of my own will. But this feels too real to be a dream. I can’t shake a lurking feeling that I’m reliving this, not conjuring it from my imagination. A memory that managed to partially break free. 

“Upon reviewing both of your exceptional records, my knights and I were forced to come to a decision.” The man in the middle is speaking. His deep voice booms around the hall with little effort. “As you know, we only have one spot open for a new knight and leader in our ranks due to a sudden...unfortunate resignation.” This has to be a memory. This all feels so familiar, and I have some idea what’s going to happen next. I think the woman is going to- “Both of your records spoke for themselves,” She begins. “A lifetime of service to the Gods and the kingdom. You beat out all other contenders by a long shot.” 

“Ultimately, it came down to experience on the battlefield.” The ground shakes as the giant speaks. I’ve always thought of giants as dullards, but this one seems to have all his wits about him. “You are going to be leading soldiers into battle. It would be unwise for one unaccustomed to war to wage it.” He sounds faintly disdainful. Of me or the man beside me I’m not sure. 

“Ah. I see,” the man next to me shifts and I hear the wooden chair underneath him groan from the effort required to support him. “A fine choice.” I hear one of the knights across from us sigh with relief. “We are glad to see you agree. We were afraid you would be disappointed by the decision.” “Why would I be? I am more than happy to join your ranks!” An uncomfortable silence follows his declaration. 

“We...we didn’t choose you. We chose the human.” My eyebrows raise in shock. Me? I mean, I knew it was going to happen, but it’s still a surprise...damn, this is confusing. I know for sure I didn’t think I had a chance. “The human?!” “He isn’t as strong as you or as imposing, but he does have prior leadership experience-” The woman seems quick to try and placate the other applicant. “I would hardly call a disastrous skirmish ‘leadership experience’!” “And I would hardly call a glutton who crushes criminals with a hammer a warrior.” “Ornstein!” The leader barks. Alarm bells begin to ring in my head. I know that name! The man sitting next to the leader takes shape a little bit - a golden mass with a snarling face. “Please, I could do what this weakling did any day!” “Really? You could take emergency command of a routed platoon and-” “I wouldn’t need to! I could have destroyed those Carim raiders by myself and then deal with the cowards who ran!” “That’s the bloody POINT!” “ENOUGH!” A fist strikes the table with enough force to make it splinter. 

Everyone immediately goes silent. When the leader speaks, it’s in a barely controlled voice. “Smough, as much as I regret not being able to appoint you as my new battlefield commander, Ornstein has a point - no matter how blunt and tactless he may be. You don’t have experience leading men. I have no doubt you would be a fine warrior. But that isn’t what is needed.” “Lord Gwyn, I have served you for decades without question. Please, allow me to prove myself to you.” 

Upon hearing the names, both men come into focus somewhat. Smough is a mass of flesh who reminds me of the monster I fought to escape the Asylum, but I’m still fuzzy on his face. Lord Gwyn, however, is thrown into sharp relief. 

Elegant robes are draped over the Lord’s imposing physique. His white beard is neatly groomed and his long hair is tied back to keep it from falling into his eyes. A tall crown rests on his head, and ribbons of gold are used to keep his robes in place. I shrink down in my seat, eager to avoid his ire. Gwyn sighs and leans back in his chair, gazing with a mix of emotions at Executioner Smough. 

“You have served me faithfully, Smough. That is true. And while I would much rather have you in command than a human-” Gwyn spits the word out like he’d spit out a piece of rotten fruit. “-I cannot argue with his record, or my four knights.” “So that’s how it is?” Smough hisses. He rises to his feet, anger radiating from every pore of his body. “Traitors. All of you.” “Smough…” Gwyn rumbles a warning. “Not you, Lord Gwyn. Of course not you. It’s these...fools who have you blinded. I’ll prove them wrong.” Smough spins around and storms out, making sure to knock my shoulder on his way. “Lucky bastard,” he growls. 

Gwyn sighs angrily. “Ornstein, you need to learn to watch your tongue.” “I think he was spot-on,” the fourth knight says, silent until now. “Smough’s too full of himself.” “Broadly, Ornstein was correct, although his words could have been chosen much more carefully,” the giant chimes in. “That’s enough. What’s done is done. And we’ll all be left with the mess.” Gwyn rises, avoiding eye contact with me. “The human was your recommendation, Artorias. Get him set up.” “His name is-” “I don’t care what his name is. Just get it done.” “...Yes, my lord.” 

An azure hood on top of gleaming steel armor comes down from the table and approaches me. I snap to attention and accept his handshake when he offers it. “Congratulations. I think you’ll be a good fit here.” “Thank you, sir.” “I’m only ‘sir’ for a little longer. Soon you’ll be one of us.” “Hard to believe.” Artorias chuckles softly. “Indeed. Now, you have three weeks to go back home and get your affairs in order. I’d recommend getting back a few days in advance, just in case.” “Understood.” Artorias turns away and I quickly exit the hall, bound for home for the last time. 

* * * 

I open my eyes to find the jagged mountains have given way to enormous city walls bordering a lush forest. What a sight to wake up to. The crow is still carrying me comfortably in its talons. “Ornstein...and Artorias. Ornstein, Artorias, and Oscar.” Names I recognized in the memory, and in a good way. I pull out my knife and take off my leather glove. I do my best to grip the knife like a quill and start to etch the three names into my glove. Huh. I know how to write. And I was a knight of Gwyn, apparently. I smile to myself as I start to slip the glove back on...and stop. My rings. I haven’t had a good look at them yet. Not in a while, anyhow.

Both are made from simple steel and have animals etched into them. Four-legged ones. The names elude me. The pair looks ordinary, but they’re faintly warmer than my body temperature. They used to keep me somewhat comforted on the really cold nights in the Asylum. I’m not as rushed to try and remember everything. After the dream I feel infinitely more secure. Things will come back. Slowly, maybe, but they will return as long as I keep moving forward. 

The crow takes a sudden dive and I quickly slip my glove back on. I see a bright glow through the leaves, and then I’m dropped ten feet from the ground. My boots strike the dirt and I tuck into a roll, coming up just short of an already-burning bonfire. I get to my feet and stretch my arms, taking in the new environment. The bonfire is right in front of a ruined cathedral, I believe it was - certainly big enough. Low, ruined walls wind around the area. Immediately by the bonfire is a small pile of rubble...with a person sitting on it! Unhollowed! He’s watching me while lounging on some mossy rocks. I stride over to him. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? New arrival? Fate of the Undead?” I nod. “Yeah? You’re not the first.” “Really?” “Oh! You speak! Most newcomers are so frightfully shy.” The man perks up a little bit. “Welcome to Firelink Shrine. What’s your name?” “Lucky.” “Ha!" "What's yours?" "It hardly matters at this point. Lucky! Hee Hee! That’s ironic, isn’t it?” “I don’t think so.” The man’s momentary enthusiasm turns back to a look of resignment. “Bah. You’re a chipper one. What do you have in mind? Save the world? Hand out sweets and kind words to every poor sod you pass?” “If that’ll get me to the Bell of Awakening and find my friend.” The man grumbles something under his breath. “Another corpse to add to the pile. Since you’re new, I’ll help you out, but then I want you on your way. Can’t stand the cheery ones. There are actually two Bells. One’s high above, in the Undead Church. The other is far, far below, past Blighttown, right at the edge of the Great Swamp.” “How do I get there?” “I don’t know. Figure it out!” “Haven’t you at least tried to do this?” 

The man scowls at me. “‘Course I tried. Everyone’s tried!” I look around the empty shrine. “Where is everyone?” “Hollowed away. Gone mad. By the looks of it, you’re already on your way.” I look down at my skin, wrinkled and withering. “How can I get rid of this?” “You’ll need some humanity. Small black things.” “I got some earlier off of a giant monster.” “Ooh, big man. Well, that’ll do it. Just take a rest at the fire, it should return. And fill up your Estus, for the love of the Gods.” “How do I do that?” “You really are daft, aren’t you?” “And you’re a prick.” The man grins. “You’ve got some fire in you. You might make it longer than most. Pack some ashes into the flask and wait a minute. The ashes here are nice, too. They’ll last you longer than others. We can talk again when you’re nice and worn out. Your eagerness is grating.” 

I walk back over to the bonfire and sit down next to it. A lot of things hit me all at once: The sensation of my skin tightening and getting more comfortable as my original features return, the feeling of strength rushing into my muscles as I get lighter - I think I’m absorbing the souls I gained from the Asylum. I pack my flask full of ashes and rise up, knife strapped to my hip and shield on my arm. My skin, now restored, is tanned and healthy-looking. I roll up my sleeves and shirt to find my stomach and chest crisscrossed with long, shallow slashes - at least a dozen. They’re faded now. Either I once lost a knife fight very badly, or I was whipped. Neither is very fun to think about. I drop my shirt and withdraw my blade. I'm sure the man was just exaggerating. The Bells might be far, but if I got out of the Asylum this should be a piece of cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out I'm not going to be describing the moment-to-moment fighting as much, as that could get repetitive and dull - boss fights are the exception, of course.   
> Let me know what you guy think of the characterization! Thanks to everyone who's left a kudos and shown support!


	6. A Sunny Outlook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look into the past and a bloody monster fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, exams were taking up a lot of time. Good news is this chapter is longer than usual. Enjoy!

The massive axe crunches against the ladder, slamming my leg into the stone and flattening it. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes closed but continue to climb the tower with a now-useless leg dangling behind me. This Taurus Demon is quite a bit more agile than the behemoth I dueled in the Asylum - I paid the price for thinking otherwise. I manage to scramble onto the tower and quickly pop the top on my Estus flask, draining the last bit of liquid health and rising to my feet as my leg twists back into shape. A nasty wound I got from an archer on my way is still bleeding quite badly, though. I rip off a piece of tattered cloth from a dead Hollow on the tower and quickly wrap it around the wound, listening for signs that the demon might jump up like it did a few minutes ago. 

It’s taken me hours to get this far. Cautiously inching forwards, parrying and dodging whatever threats decided to use me for target practice, collecting anything that might be useful. I found some black firebombs but I have no idea how to light the wick. Either way, I’ll find some use for them eventually. Thank the Gods I found a bonfire along the way, although it was a nasty shock to realize that all the Hollows come back to life whenever I rest there. I’ve almost died a few times crawling my way here. A surprise attack from a Hollowed Black Knight almost got me down for good. That is, until he got that great big sword of his stuck in a wooden door and I was able to make quick work of him from behind while he worked to free it. That sword’s stored back near the bonfire now - no way I was letting that go. 

Once I’ve patched myself up as much as I can given the circumstances I walk back to the edge of the tower. The demon demolished the ladder, for sure. I’m not getting back up here. Speaking of the demon; it’s keeping its distance, not eager to come back up or get within jumping range. Last time the demon came up here wasn’t a great time for either of us. I got smashed against the stone wall, and it got a calf full of serrated dagger. I also managed to get the drop on the demon once, a deep wound where his eye was can attest to that. But after that it grew wary to my tricks and refused to come close enough. 

“Look, just let me go past! I don’t see what the big deal is!” I holler down. In response, the demon pounds its chest and roars. I see nothing but hate in its eyes. “Right back at you!” I look down at my knife. The blade is close to dull. Pretty soon I’ll need to trek back and get that Black Knight sword. It’s heavy, but not unmanageable. “Fine, damn you. You want to smash my leg?” I look down the ladder. Five rungs, then a drop. I can do that. “The bell better be right behind you for all the rubbish you’ve put me through,” I mutter to myself as I swing over the edge of the tower, quickly descending the ladder and kicking off the wall. As soon as I hit the ground I roll backwards and onto my feet in time to duck the demon’s first attack. 

I bounce on the balls of my feet. I’m not going down here. The demon tenses and I dive forward. I feel the axe miss me by inches as it crashes down behind me. Rolling over my shoulder, I come up and drag my knife down the monster’s gut, quickly dashing to the side to avoid its retaliation and getting another couple slashes in on its thigh. Blood is flowing pretty heavily from the demon now, its breathing growing heavier and more labored. It swipes the ground and I raise my shield, large chunks of stone striking my body but missing my head. The axe scrapes against the ground. I bound out of reach. As soon as it passes by I rush in again. 

My only warning is the demon’s nails glinting off of the sunlight before its hand snatches me up and lifts me skywards. 

I realize too late a trap was sprung. The demon wanted me in close. I wriggle my arms to try and get free, but it’s no use. The demon’s fingers are crushing me. Squeezing my lungs. Can’t breathe. Ribs snapping. Arms about to go. The edges of my vision start to dim. Can’t...can’t get loose. Gonna die. Oh, Gods, I’m gonna die. 

The beast roars in triumph as it chokes the life from me. A sudden anger overtakes my panic. No. I’m not dying here. My arms still work, and my hand is below the demon’s fist. I flip the blade in my hand, angling the point down at its palm. With the last of my strength I thrust it down, ramming the knife a good six inches through the demon’s palm and tearing a jagged hole open. 

The hand suddenly opens up and I twist the knife flat for a handle. I doubt I could take a fall right now. Blood pours out of the hole and down my arm, cascading off my shoulder and running down my body. The demon roars and the axe crashes to the ground right before it’s other hand wraps around my legs. It tugs sharply and a yelp of pain escapes my lips, a loud crack sounding from my shin. For a second I think the demon got me free as I fall down - but then I catch again and more blood rains down on me. The knife is still planted firmly in the demon’s skin and muscle - only now it’s traced a long, gaping hole down the forearm. 

The demon roars again. This time there’s a very apparent note of fear in its voice. I did serious damage. It shakes its arm vigorously and I’m finally dislodged, smacking against the cobblestone wall we’re battling on. I start to push myself up but my hand slips on the blood-soaked stone. The ground shakes and I look up at the demon, now on its knees. It glares at me, driven almost mad with rage but growing weaker by the second from the multitudes of open, flowing wounds. I summon strength from reserves I didn’t know I possessed and force myself to rise onto my one good leg, leaning against the wall for support. Every breath hurts and my mouth tastes like copper. Less standing on death’s door and more lightly prodding death while it sleeps. 

The demon moves and I stumble back out of range of its slow, clumsy swipe. It starts to get up but slips on the blood, same as I did. Gods, this is painful to watch. I can’t bring myself to hate it; it’s just a beast. An angry bastard of a beast and a demon to boot, for sure, but I still feel worse killing it than I did the Hollows on the way here. After a few agonizing minutes of watching the demon repeatedly try and fail to rise, holding my side and wincing with every painful breath, I can’t bear it anymore. I scoop my dagger off of the ground and start to limp closer. The demon’s remaining eye grows wide and it starts to swipe even more. I can’t get close without taking a fist. I flip my knife, take aim, and whip it right into the demon’s exposed throat. As soon as the knife tears through the demon collapses and begins to glow. 

I pick up my knife and a pure white bone from where the demon disintegrated. I clutch the bone in my palm and slide my knife into my belt. Turning to the door the demon was guarding, I stagger two steps towards it before my vision turns black and I collapse on the wall. 

***

The heavy chainmail rattles noisily as I march in a loose formation. I’m supposed to keep my head on a swivel to look for potential threats but I’m so tired I can’t help but let my head droop. Damn this heavy armor! Why can’t we just wear what we’re comfortable with? “Captain Baker! How much further?” A soldier next to me calls out. 

“Quit your whining!” The captain’s horse trots up beside us. “Carim raiders are somewhere in this area, and we’re going to find them if it takes all day. So suck it up and keep moving!” The captain falls back and I stifle a groan. “I swear to the gods, he’s going to be the death of us.” “Tell me about it. Doesn’t matter how many bodies it takes, if it’ll help him reach colonel he’ll kill us all.” 

As my boots sink into the soft mud beneath the grass I begin to hear the words of my instructor in my head back from basic training: “You want to be a soldier? Then you better sprout up six goddamn inches and put some meat on those sticks you call legs!” He might have had a point. I seem to be more worn down by my load than the others, although we’re all hurting. Maybe I should have stayed in Astora and gotten an apprenticeship somewhere. But then I’d run the risk of seeing...no. Anywhere’s better than back home.

“Do you know the size of the force we’re up against?” “at least a dozen, I’d wager.” “a dozen Carim raiders against a platoon of worn-out infantry? And he won’t even give us time to write a will?” My buddy next to me glances back at Captain Baker. “Think one of the raiders will get him?” “If Gwyn feels kind enough.” A smile cracks my face and I re-adjust the heavy pack resting uncomfortably on my back, full of water and rations we haven’t been allowed to touch. 

A scream makes me jerk my head up. Everyone halts, hands on their swords. It came from the brush off to our left. “Did I give the order to stop moving?!” “We don’t know what that was, sir!” “So keep marching and find-” “MOVE!” A burst of flame explodes from the brush. I dive to the left, crashing and sinking into the mud as a blazing horse tramples past. Arrows whizz overhead and more bodies fall next to me. “Fight! Stand and fight!” The captain orders. A battle cry roars from all around us and Carim warriors charge out on horseback, surrounding us and bunching us up. I quickly get up and away from the circling fighters. “Fight back you cowards!” The captain calls from the middle of the pack. Half of us are brandishing weapons. The other half is praying to the Gods. We outnumber the raiders but we’re disorganized and scared - not to mention nowhere near as well-trained as the warriors. This is going to be a slaughter. 

“Surrender!” I’m shocked to hear the words coming from my own throat. “Lay down your weapons! They’ll kill us all otherwise!” “You will do no such thing!” “Captain, if you want us to fight then get down here and help us!” I bark back. Surrendering is the last thing I want to do, but it’s better than dying a senseless death for an officer who doesn’t care about anything than his own status. “If you want a chance at getting back home then throw down your swords!” The raiders are closing in fast, bunching us up closer and closer. “NOW!” 

Swords fall onto the mud in blatant disregard of the captain’s red-faced bellowings. A heavy, blunt object strikes the back of my head. I look down to see an officer’s knife by my heel. He threw his knife at me but misjudged the throw. Bastard. The Carim raiders slowly stop their circling and look bemused at our lack of fight. “We surrender!” I call out, raising my hands high.

One of the raiders dismounts and walks up to me, shotel in hand. “You are...giving up?” He asks through a thick accent. “Yes. We can’t win. Just let us collect our dead and wounded and return home.” “Return home?” The man chuckles, then turns back to his comrades, repeating what I said in his native tongue. All the other raiders laugh as well. “I will hang you for this, private! Impersonating an officer is a capital punishment!” I ignore the captain and maintain eye contact with the raider. “We’re no threat to you. Just let us go.” “And waste perfectly good bodies?” The raider makes a motion with his hand and several of them dismount, taking shackles from their saddlebags. “Because I am merciful, I will allow you to select three men to go free to deliver news of your capture to your king. Tell him I wish for a ransom of fifteen talents of silver. In two weeks’ time” Okay. Bit steep, but that won’t so much as make a dent in the king’s coffers. 

“Per head.” 

My heart sinks. Fifteen talents of silver a head? That’s...that’s a lot of silver. “Choose three men. Better make sure they’re fast runners, too. Every day over the deadline, one of you hangs. Now go ahead.” I nod turn around. The men all stare at me, eyes pleading. My mind is racing. I try and remember who needs it the most, but that goes nowhere. Everyone here is desperate, that’s why we’re infantry. “Pick, or I will.” “I’m picking!” Alright. I know one. “Bertram!” One soldier stumbles to the front. He’s got two kids at home with no mother. “Listen here, private, if you let me go I’ll forget all about the surrender. No capital punishment.” I ignore the captain and keep looking. “Ronin!” A second. Ailing wife, he deserves all the time he can spend with her. “Private, I’ll put you in for a promotion.” I look at the captain. Still on his horse. “I-I’ll even throw in some money! You could use some of that!” Looking dead at Captain Baker I call the last soldier. “Virgil.” 

The three soldiers come to the front and I give them some water and food for the way back. The Carim raider nods and they take off, back towards Astora. I watch them go as cold iron manacles clamp over my wrists. 

***

Liquid trickles down my throat. Warm and sweet. I reflexively swallow and more follows. I feel parts of my body shift and knit back together. After a few minutes and a couple more gulps of Estus I feel strength begin to return to my limbs. That memory...it was a lot more vivid than my last. I could see more detail. “Are you awake?” A man’s voice asks. “Yes.” “Good. I was worried. Do you think you can stand?” “I can try.” A hand works its way under my shoulder and lifts me up. I get to my feet and stumble forward a little before the man catches me. “Easy. Take your time.” I rub my eyes and crack them open, squinting in the harsh sunlight. “You were in bad shape. It’s a miracle you weren’t dead when I found you.” 

My eyes adjust to the light and I turn to my savior, a man outfitted in high-quality iron armor with a sun emblazoned upon his chest. “Are you sure you’re alright?” “Yes. Thanks to you.” I glance at the man’s hip. His Estus flask is empty. “”Oh, damn. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken all your Estus.” “Think nothing of it. I gave it to you.” “Won’t you need it?” The man shakes his head. “I haven’t so far. Ever since I escaped the Undead Asylum it’s been a walk in the park.” 

“You were in the Asylum?” “Indeed.” “So was I!” I can’t help but grin. “How did you escape?” “A young knight by the name of Oscar dropped me a key.” “You’re joking.” This is amazing. “How did you get past that beast guarding the door?” “Oh, he wasn’t so hard. Just slashed him up and went on my way.” “You killed it?” “Aye. Did you?” “Yes, but...how could we have both killed it? I don’t remember seeing you there.” The man picks up a large, round shield and motions for me to walk out from under a wall and into the sun. 

“Time is convoluted here in Lordran. Heroes centuries old have been phasing in and out. The fabric of our worlds are growing threadbare, allowing us to momentarily come into contact. There’s no telling how much longer we will remain together.” The knight turns towards the sun, gazing directly at it. He seems almost serene. Unfazed and unharmed by the undead soldiers that almost tore me to shreds. 

“What is your name? I figure I should know the identity of the man who saved my life.” “Oh! Apologies, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I am Knight Solaire of Astora, here in the birthplace of Lord Gwyn to seek out my very own sun!” I open my mouth but no words come out. I’m not sure how one responds to that. “I beg your pardon?” “Do you think it’s strange?” “Well...a bit.” “You should!” Solaire bursts into jovial laughter. “Don’t worry. I get that all the time. Tell me, what brings you to Lordran?” 

“I’m here to find someone.” “Who?” “I’m not quite sure.” Solaire chuckles again. “The curse of the Undead is a tricky thing. Some people wake up just as they were. Others are like newborn babes - completely blank.” “Bits and pieces have been coming back. I used to be a soldier, captured by Carim raiders.” “Nasty business.” “I may have been a knight at one point, but I’m not sure. It’s all still fuzzy.” “Do you remember your name?” “Lucky, I believe.” 

Solaire tears his gaze away from the sun. “Lucky?” “I know it sounds silly-” “Not at all.” Solaire sounds intrigued. “Can you do me a favor and lower your mask?” I pull the black cloth that covers my face down to my neck. Solaire examines my features closely. At least, I think he is. With that great iron helm on it’s impossible to tell. “Are you...no. That’d be impossible,” Solaire mutters to himself. “What?” “I’m terribly sorry, but do you remember where you were a knight?” “Anor Londo. Under Lord Gwyn.” “I know you!” 

Solaire fully turns towards me. “You were the first human knight of Gwyn! The only, if memory serves. There was a statue of you in my battleschool.” “Really?” “Yes! Although, they seem to have exaggerated some of your features.” “My height?” “Just a bit.” I grin and pull my mask back up. It’s odd - I don’t feel important. I knew I was someone back at the Asylum, but not to this degree. 

“Our worlds merging as you were close to death cannot be a coincidence. Our fates must be intertwined. Please, take this.” Solaire reaches into his pocket and hands me a white soapstone. “We can summon one another as spirits, to bridge the gap between worlds and engage in jolly cooperation! It would be my pleasure to aid you in battle.” “You’re incredibly kind, Solaire. Thank you.” I take the stone and examine it. Having a fighter as capable as Solaire claims to be by my side will make this journey much easier. 

“Before I go, is there anything I can give you to repay you for everything you’ve done for me?” “It was my pleasure. Think nothing of it.” I withdraw my knife and adjust my grip on my shield. “In that case, I must push onwards. Do you care to come along?” “You go on ahead. I’m going to stay back awhile and gaze at the sun. Magnificent, isn’t it? Like a heavenly body.” “It is indeed. I hope to meet you again along the way. Stay safe.” “And you as well.” I leave Solaire to his thoughts and step out onto the bridge behind us, knife and shield braced for the several Hollows guarding the way.


	7. The Onion Knight

“You’d rather use this toothpick over that great big sword on your back?” “It’s too heavy. I can only use it with both hands, and I like having my shield on hand.” The blacksmith shrugs and brings the knife down onto the grindstone. “What did you say your name was, again?” “Andre.” “What are you doing all the way down here?” “Used to be a blacksmith for the Parish above. But then everyone started going Hollow and I thought it best to take my trade to a bit of a safer area.” 

“How long have you been down here?” “Lost count. Few years, at least.” Andre tests the sharpness of my knife with his finger before bringing it back down on the grindstone. “Are you bored a lot?” “I get enough visitors that I’m never looking for something to do. Granted, not many are as chatty as you.” Based on his tone, I can’t tell if that’s a hint to stop talking. I decide to ignore it and keep on. “Any interesting ones recently?” “Aye. Just before you arrived, a man dressed like an onion wanted his shield repaired. He only left a few hours ago, walked out towards that gate upstairs.” “Really?” 

Andre nods. “If you want, you can go up and see if he’s still hanging around. Path there is safe, you won’t need your dagger.” “I think I will. Thank you.” I head upstairs and out the door, scooping up some Bonfire ash as I pass by for my Estus flask. It’s a short walk across a raised path to the gate across a lush forest. Nothing but the chirping of birds and the wind break the silence. About halfway across I see the man Andre spoke of - and by the Gods, was he correct. An onion man if I’ve ever seen one. 

He seems to have fallen asleep, his head drooping and relaxing on the stone. “Are you alright?” I ask. “Hmm.” “What is it?” I glance at the patch of ground he’s staring at. Nothing of interest there. “Hrmm.” “Do you need anything?” “Mmm...mmh! Oh-hoh, forgive me! I was absorbed in thought.” He shifts and straightens up. “I am Siegmeyer of Catarina. You are?” “Lucky. What brings you all the way from Catarina to Lordran?” “Adventure, of course! What better place to find it than in the land of the Gods?” “Doesn’t the Undead Curse scare you at all?” 

“Not at all! Adventuring is my life. I’m prepared for the worst. Ha ha!” I nod towards the closed gate. “What’s this lead to?” “Your guess is as good as mine, my friend. But if there is such a grand device to keep it locked up, whatever’s inside must be something to behold.” I try to peer through the holes in the gate, but it’s too dark inside to see past a few feet. “Any idea how to get it open?” “None. This thing refuses to budge, no matter how long I wait - and oh, how I’ve waited. So here I sit, in quite a pickle.” 

I scratch my chin and look around. There’s no visible lever or mechanism to open up the gate. I wonder - what could be behind this thing? I walk back over to Siegmeyer and shake my head. “I can’t see anything either.” “No doubt this is some infernal puzzle created by the Gods to test a warrior’s patience.” “Or maybe the way to open it is hidden somehow?” “Impossible. I’ve searched every square inch of stone along this pathway. This must be a test of patience. After all, what good is a way to open the gate if it’s not close to the gate itself?” I guess he has a point. Maybe. “In any case, would it be alright with you if I rested here for a moment? The blacksmith back at the Parish is sharpening my weapon and it could take some time.” “I’d be delighted to have company!” 

I hop up on the wall next to Siegmeyer and lean back, letting the sun warm my face. “Your attire is curious,” Siegmeyer notes, observing my black leather outfit and hood. “You’re not a thief, are you?” “Nope. Least, I don’t think so.” “You don’t remember?” I shake my head. “I’m getting bits and pieces, but I was in the Undead Asylum for a long time.” “Oh. I apologize, that must have been difficult.” 

“You weren’t in the Asylum?” “Never. I walked here from Catarina.” “Good Gods, that’s a far walk.” “I quite enjoyed it! I met many others in my travels, I slew many monsters, and I drank merrily among friends! Ha ha!” “Others didn’t mind you were Undead?” “When you kill the beast terrorizing a remote village, the inhabitants couldn’t care less who you were - not to mention they always brewed the best ale!” Siegmeyer elbows me and laughs again. I can’t help but warm to the onion knight. He’s downright jovial, and his laughter is infectious. 

“May I ask something?” “By all means!” “Your armor…” “Now don’t you start. This armor has seen more battle than ten legions of men put together.” The joviality has been replaced with the tone of a man who’s been slighted one too many times. “It’s not strange, dammit - and yes, I’m fully aware it looks like an onion, thank you. But you should be aware that his armor is a piece of art.” I raise my hands in a sign of surrender. “I wasn’t going to belittle it. I promise. I was merely wondering if the shape served any purpose.” “Oh. I see. I sincerely apologize. Outsiders tend to make fun of the armor. They don’t understand it’s value.” 

Siegmeyer runs his hand over the curves of the armor. “You see, blacksmiths in my homeland discovered long ago that this specific design could deflect strikes and arrows. Admittedly, it does look a bit like an onion, but it’s necessary. My life has been saved more times than I can count by this set.” “I’ll bet. Is it heavy?” The armor looks like it could weigh as much as I do. “It was. Now I can’t imagine being without it. I don’t know how you manage with so little.” I look down at my own leather gear. “I can’t stand heavy armor. I feel slow and vulnerable. I’d much rather be able to move fast and avoid a hit than risk it piercing my armor.” “To each their own, I suppose. What weapon are you using?” “I found a serrated knife back at the Asylum that’s served me well thus far.” 

Siegmeyer’s body goes rigid. “A knife?!” He exclaims. “How are you still alive?” “I just keep moving and get in close when I see an opening.” Siegmeyer shakes his head. “Young ones these days. Don’t know how to swing a sword properly. Look here - THIS is a weapon.” Siegmeyer stands up and reaches behind him, unsheathing a sword as tall as I am. Siegmeyer swings the greatsword around in wide arcs with ease, his other hand gripping a pierce shield. To finish the display the knight swings the sword into the wall, where it bites deep and cracks the ancient stone. “You see? Now you try.” Siegmeyer tosses the sword to me. I catch it horizontally in both arms and the sheer weight still knocks me back. The knight chortles as I regain my footing and wrap both hands around the grip. I manage one clumsy swing before the tip smacks into the ground and I find myself winded. “Good Gods. And you’ve made it this far?” “I told you. I prefer lighter equipment.” My pride stinging a little, I give the sword back to the onion knight. 

“Besides, my knife isn’t what I used normally.” “What was?” “I’m still piecing that together. Definitely something lighter than that hunk of steel.” Siegmeyer must be able to kill with a single punch if he’s that strong. “I think I remember...it was an unusual combination. Two different weapons. But it was efficient.” I should have asked Solaire. That, and a lot of other things. He seemed to know. Oh, well - for next time. “As long as it granted you victory.” Siegmeyer hops back up on the wall. 

“I should head back soon. Andre is probably close to done with my knife, and I intend to reach the top of the Parish.” “Best of luck to you, young warrior. May your blade serve you well.” A sudden realization slaps me across the face. “That’s the second time you’ve called me young.” I have no idea what I look like. “It’s because you are! You look to be about the same age as my daughter! Ha ha...ha.” His laughter trails off. “You have a daughter?” “Not important. Forget I brought it up.” Uncomfortable topic. Got it. “Before I go, can I trouble you for a quick favor?” I ask. Siegmeyer perks up slightly. “Hmm?” “Can you describe what I look like? My face?” “Your face? You don’t...right. Forgive me.” 

I pull down my facemask and feel vaguely awkward as Siegmeyer examines me. I would just look in a mirror or flat pool of water, but I can’t seem to find one. Even my shield isn’t reflective enough to get a decent look. But Siegmeyer seems kind enough to give his honest thoughts - better him than that sad sack back at Firelink. 

“You’re young - but that’s apparent by now. Tan. You’ve got a scar - deep. From there-” Siegmeyer extends a finger and traces a line through the air diagonally “-to there.” I search with my finger and find the scar tissue on the right side of my chin. I follow it up, over my nose, less than half an inch from my left eye, and across my forehead before ending just before my hairline. “Do you know how you got that?” “No. But I have ones similar to it across my chest.” Siegmeyer remains quiet for a moment. “Well, I sincerely hope you find the man who did that to you.” “Why’s that?” “Something about you tells me that you wouldn’t be the loser this time around.” I grin and look down as Siegmeyer chuckles softly. “And if I find him, I’ll be sure to let you know.” “Just tap him with that battering ram you call a sword and the matter would be over with.” “Ha!” “Alright, so what about my hair?” “Brown. Closely cut. Dark green eyes, too. Square jaw. “Any beard?” “No. Clean as can be.” Okay. I got a somewhat decent picture. “Thanks, Siegmeyer. I should be heading back.” “Safe travels, my friend.” “Good luck with the gate. Hopefully I’ll see you later.” “And hopefully you’ll have gotten a real weapon!” We both laugh and the knight settles against the wall as I retreat back towards Andre, bound for the first Bell of Awakening.


	8. Lautrec of Carim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucky ventures through the Undead Parish and encounters a strange prisoner.

The mace of the enormous knight crashes into the pew, splintering the wood and sending razor-sharp pieces flying my way. A piece slices my cheek and I flinch, quickly raising my shield and continuing to back up, stepping over the corpses of the other knights I’ve put down. The mass of hollows upstairs have already been dealt with. That weird chanting bastard was a particular thorn in my side until I was able to get in close. A bright light on an altar at the front of the Parish caught my attention when I first entered, but the knight won’t let me anywhere near it. Thank the Gods for Andre, my knife is sharper than ever now. 

A moan rattles from inside the knight’s helm, desolate and mournful. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to do this soon.” The knight raises its mace, exposing its body, and I choose my moment. I sprint forward, sliding as soon as I see the mace start to drop. The ground shakes behind me as I slide between the knight’s tree-trunk legs, greatshield scraping against the ground as it tries to close back in. I plant my foot on the stone floor and thrust upwards with my entire body weight as soon as I get behind the knight. The point of my knife scrapes against armor until it catches on the overlapping plates for a brief moment before punching through. Blood pours from the thin hole. 

The knight turns around as fast as it can and I stay behind it, twisting the knife and opening the hole as much as possible. An elbow blindsides me and knocks me back. I quickly retreat and the knight follows, blood flowing steadily from the hulking man. “Come on. Plant that mace down again.” Those eye holes are puny, but if I could get through the armor on his back then I can get through it on his face. That’ll put a swift end to this. I edge closer and closer, jumping back with each horizontal swipe. “Down. Put it down.” The knight’s smart. He won’t risk another slow strike after the last one got him a knife in the back. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” 

Again I race forward, angled to the left to get around the knight’s shield. He winds up a swing with the mace and pulls his shield in close. I leap up, managing to get my foot on his knee before his shield fully pulls in. I spring up and grab the back of the knight’s helmet as best I can with my left hand. He bellows in confusion, unsure of how to proceed with a small man clinging to his face. “Sorry about this, soldier.” My knife plunges through the relatively thin armor. The knight roars and stumbles backwards. Within three steps its legs give out and it topples. 

I land hard on top of the knight and roll off, taking a quick swig of Estus. That shortcut I found on the side of the Parish was an incredible discovery, the Firelink ashes pack my Estus flask with a better kick than the ones at normal bonfires. I still have well over half left. Moving past the knight, I walk towards the altar at the front of the Parish. A cadaver in fine clothing has their arms crossed in front of their chest. They’ve already started to decay, so I can’t tell if it was a man or woman; although, judging by the elegant emerald dress, I’d say it’s a safe bet they were a woman. A long slash across her throat draws my attention away from her dress. She was killed, that part’s evident. I frown as I examine it. Was this a sacrifice? It certainly seems like it, the way she’s presented. My fingers dance around the wound as I chew my lip in thought. Who would do such a thing?

After a few minutes no easy answer reaches me and I dismiss it. I can’t worry about this right now. I refocus on the bright light resting on the chest of the sacrifice. I hesitantly reach out and lightly poke it. It gives a little but remains resting on the body. I gently rest my hand on the light and close my fist around it. It’s warm and dense, but has no texture or describable feel. Just...warm. I have no earthly idea what it could be. I place it in my pocket, where its weight keeps it down. Stepping away from the body I turn towards the stairs and head up to the next level. 

“Hello?” I freeze. “Are you still alive?” A distant male voice asks. “Or are you another Hollow?” “I’m a human!” I start down a new hallway towards the source of the voice. “Where...are you?” “Just follow the sound of my voice.” He sounds closer. I reach the end of the hallway only to run flat up against a wall. “There’s nothing but wall here!” “Look for the door! It’s boarded up!” 

A sinking feeling begins to form in the pit of my stomach as I find the door and start to kick the boards down. The voice sounds vaguely familiar. Accented. But for the life of me I can’t place it. I smash through the boarded-up doorway and into the hidden section of the Parish. “There you go. Now come up and get me out!” My hand unconsciously goes to my dagger. I head up a set of stairs to find a locked cell. Inside is a man outfitted in bright, golden armor. It’s curiously designed; not like Siegmeyer’s, which might serve a purpose. There are irregular bumps or flairs that seem to do nothing but add unnecessary weight, especially in the front where two raised sections of metal almost look like two joined arms. 

All of my instincts are telling me to turn around right now and leave the knight, but when I try and find a concrete reason I draw a blank. Why are alarm bells going off? “Well? What are you just standing around for?” “...Sorry.” I bring out my key ring and start trying different ones. Eventually I’m able to find the right key, the one I found in the rafters after I had to deal with that armored boar. The door swings open and the knight rolls his neck. “Thank you. Sincerely. I am Knight Lautrec of Carim. I can-” My knife flies into my hand and I duck behind my shield. “Don’t you try anything or I swear to god I’ll leave you here to rot.” 

Lautrec raises his hands. “Would you think me so base that I would attack my saviour? No. Whatever you may know about Carim, I promise you, on my honor, that I am nothing like the rest of those barbarians.” He sounds sincere. Besides, I’ll be gone from here soon. I slowly put my knife away and Lautrec bows his head in thanks. “I can promise you a reward, but I’m afraid it must wait.” Lautrec stretches out and laces his hands behind his head. “Now I can get back to work.” Lautrec laughs. A low, guttural laugh that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. “What work would that be?” “Hm? Oh, nothing you need to concern yourself with.” 

I finally cave in to the demands of my instincts and back away from the knight. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” “Stay safe. Leave the door unlocked on your way out.” Lautrec laughs again and I do the same, albeit more uncomfortably. I quickly turn and leave the makeshift prison and head back into the Parish. Upon finding the ladder up to the roof I head up, checking behind me to make sure Lautrec isn’t following. When I reach the top I straighten up to find glowing yellow runes etched into the ground. They spell out one word: “Solaire.” I reach down and brush the word with my finger. My friend’s name brightens and then vanishes. Seconds later a ghostly image begins to rise from the ground. 

I step back as the apparition rapidly takes shape, levitating above the ground with his arms in the air as he forms and solidifies before dropping to the ground and withdrawing his sword and shield. “It’s good to see a friendly face,” I say, relieved. “I just had a run in with a knight who really creeped me out.” Solaire doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even move. Just stares at me. “Solaire? Are you alright?” No response. “Right. Phantom. Not really you.” 

I take out my knife and shield and peer out onto the empty roof. Why would Solaire place a summon sign right here? If he thought I would have trouble with whatever’s about to hit me, even though he knows who I am and what I’m capable of, then I think I should be on edge. I grip my knife tightly and make sure Solaire’s close behind me as I step out onto the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait, I was with family for all of Thanksgiving and had little time to write. Now that I'm heading back to school the chapters will start to come faster once again.


	9. The Bell Gargoyles

I manage to inch cautiously halfway across the roof before a deafening CRACK overhead makes me almost jump out of my skin. Shingles from the roof of the bell tower above rain down in front of me and I take a tentative step back. Then I hear a screech and a gigantic shadow blocks out the sun and a tentative step turns into a mad scramble as a winged gargoyle crashes into the roof I’m poised on, massive halberd clutched in its hands. A tail-axe whips back and forth behind it as the gargoyle screeches again, the ornate helm resting on its terrifying head moving with the creature’s jaw. Scales line the gargoyle’s body. I can tell just by looking I’m going to have a tough time punching through it with my knife. It raises its halberd and I start to circle around, keeping an eye on that deadly tail axe. Maybe Solaire will have better luck with his sword. 

The second that thought crosses my mind a bolt of pure energy sails overhead and slams into the gargoyle’s shoulder. The creature defending the belfry screams and whips around, turning its attention to the knight. A grin immediately finds its way onto my lips. Lightning. Solaire can cast lightning. A literal godsend in a battle. I dart in close and rake my dagger across its hide, rending a few scales but drawing no blood. A dull whooshing noise gives the cue to leap to the side as the tail axe sweeps in vain for a target. 

With the two of us Solaire and I make an excellent team - what I lack in sheer damage I make up for with innumerable cuts and lacerations, as well as giving the gargoyle a small, fast target to lash out at while Solaire goes to work with his lightning and sword. My previous fear is all but gone as we wear down the beast. Why was I ever worried when I had Solaire on my side? 

Then the roof shakes for a second time. 

Heat roasts me from behind and I jump away, pulling out my Estus and spinning around to see what on earth caused that. I find a second gargoyle - this one lacking the tail axe and helm. I narrowly avoid a swipe from the larger gargoyle as I take a swig of Estus, then dive underneath a jet of flame from the same one. Now they’re both shooting fire?! 

I get back to my feet and set in on the larger one before it has a chance to target Solaire. The knight is currently forcing back flames from the new arrival with his shield, he doesn’t need a second attacker on him. “Alright, you bastard,” I snarl at the larger gargoyle. “Just you and me now.” I smash my shield into the gargoyle’s nose, denting the helm and making it flinch enough to plunge my knife through the bottom of its jaw. In response the gargoyle flaps its wings, shooting up before I can grab my knife back. I see a shift in its weight and I roll to the side to avoid the halberd, then again to dodge a storm of fire. 

The gargoyle lands heavily on the roof, smoke curling from its maw. I dart forward to snatch my knife back but I’m forced to retreat by the gargoyle using the grip of the halberd as a quarterstaff, sharply smacking at my limbs with rapid and precise attacks. My mind is racing. No way I can punch this thing to death. I need a backup plan. As the gargoyle tries to skewer, chop, bludgeon, or roast me to death I’m slapping my pockets, looking for anything useful. Moss? Nope. Lightning pine resin? Yes, if I had a blade. Dung pie? Maybe if I want to die without a shred of dignity. Then my fingers brush the black firebombs I picked up in the undead burg. 

I quickly withdraw the two bombs, each slightly smaller than my fist. There’s no way I can light them on my own, but with the gargoyle’s fire breath that won’t be an issue. I just need to pick my moment. 

With a weapon and a plan I find my confidence returning. I can’t wait for the fire now. The beast will get a mouthful of black powder. After a couple harrowing minutes narrowly avoiding attacks from the gargoyle I finally catch a glimpse of an orange glow, testament to the flames billowing in its throat. I sneer and cock my arm back. “Choke on this!” I fire the bombs down the monster’s throat right as flames begin to leave its mouth. Fire singes my arm as I move away and raise my shield over my face, praying the tiny shield is enough to keep my head safe. 

With my shield in front of me I don’t see the bombs go off or the immediate effect, but I feel chunks of scales and toughened hide slam into my body and shield, the sharper of which embed themselves painfully in my skin. The clatter of weapons and the dull thud of the gargoyle hitting the rooftop reaches my ears and I peek around my shield. Its chest is blown out from the inside, but there isn’t even a drop of blood. It looks more like...dust. For a minute I’m captivated by the corpse of the beast. What was this thing? Certainly it’s not a demon - those bleed. 

The smaller gargoyle roars behind me and I snap out of my trance and back into action, wrenching my knife free and turning to aid Solaire, who turns out not to need any help. The second one is dead before I can reach it, the knight’s sword piercing the scales with ease. As soon as it’s gone the phantom turns to me and bows before vanishing. I take a deep breath and a swig of Estus, relieved that it’s over. I turn towards the bell tower and head inside, flush with victory. 

* * * 

I reach the belfry at the top of the bell tower and roll onto the floor. I’m sucking air into my lungs as best I can, exhausted after climbing what felt like endless ladders. “So the warrior kills the gargoyles we established as security? Great. Now let’s try to get them to fall to their death off these rickety goddamn ladders. Why should we make things easy?” I lie there for a minute, eyes closed, filling my lungs with air and waiting for the pain in my muscles to subside. 

Once I feel a little better I climb to my feet and drag my way over to a lever to ring the bell. Wrapping my hands around the iron grip, I brace and tug at the lever. It groans but refuses to budge. I lower my stance and push harder with my legs and tug harder with my arms, straining with effort. No luck. I’m too worn out. I release the lever and lean against it, taking a look around. The sun is shining over the forest surrounding Lordran, and stepping out of the shade it’s quite warm. 

I step away from the lever and walk over to one of the pillars holding up the roof of the belfry. I drain the rest of my Estus to help soothe my rapidly stiffening muscles and take a seat against the pillar. Maybe Siegmeyer had the right idea by taking a rest. I smile a little at the thought of the onion knight and take off my black leather top, rolling it into a makeshift cushion and tucking it behind my head. It’s not exactly a king-size bed, but considering how tired I am it’ll do. Within minutes I’ve passed out.


	10. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look into the past.

The makeshift cell door slams behind me. The floor of the cave is littered with soldiers, dead tired from the labor the Carim raiders are forcing us to do. Five days have gone by since we’ve been taken prisoner by the raiders. The first day we spent tied up as they quickly constructed wooden bars and door to house us in the cave they were taking shelter in. The second we got the ground rules: Do not speak unless spoken to, obey orders, and to thank them for their mercifulness we will work to repay it - and by the gods, do they work us. Walls, improvements on our prison, even basic siege equipment like a battering ram are constructed by us. All under the watchful eye of a handful of raiders armed with scimitars, falchions, and whips. Evil ones at that, the more sadistic among them have stuck thorns or simple metal barbs into the lengths of the leather. With each passing day it looks less like a makeshift raiding camp and more like a foothold for a long-term stay. 

Heavy footsteps outside the cave draw our attention - those of us who are still awake. One of the raiders has come over to give us our rations. Silently he begins to pass them to me, the closest to the door. Scraps of meat and stale bread. I pass them behind me and my comrades-in-arms pass them back, nudging awake those who have fallen asleep so they can eat. Every man takes only one bit of meat and one piece of bread for himself before passing the rest on. As soon as the raider’s passed out enough for every person to have one of each, he leaves to fetch a water pail. The raiders don’t want us dead, far from it, so I’m not worried about not being fed. I am worried about getting lashed with one of those goddamn whips.

“Give me that!” A ruckus towards the back of the cave draws my attention. Captain Baker is wrestling food from one of the soldiers who’s so tired he can’t stand. “I saw you slacking off while I was working! I need this more than you!” Several of the other soldiers start to intervene, but before they can Baker has scarfed down the meat and bread. The soldiers glare at him, but none want to dish out punishment, myself included. He’s still the ranking officer, and when we get out he’s going to bring down holy hellfire on anyone who so much as raised a finger to harm him. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault we’re in this mess!” Baker’s gaze meets mine. “He’s the reason we’re stuck in here.” Several of my comrades turn their glares towards me. It’s no secret I’m resented by a good deal of the men in here for landing us in this. “If he hadn’t told us to surrender-” “We’d all be dead.” One of the other soldiers interrupts. Baker laughs mirthlessly. “You’re defending him? He could have picked you to go home, but he didn’t. Now we’re all stuck in this pit, getting worked until we drop.” “He could have picked himself. Instead, he’s here with us.” Baker’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t have a good retort to that. After a few moments he just spits on an empty section of ground and turns over to try and get some sleep. 

I nod in thanks to the soldier and make my way to the back. Everyone’s eating their rations and doing their best to get comfortable, so I get a few less-than-friendly looks when I accidentally trod on toes or fingers. When I reach the soldier Baker stole the food from I kneel down and nudge the man, who’s already almost asleep again. “Hey. You awake?” His eye cracks open. “Here.” I hand him my food. “I’m not hungry anyway.” He takes the food and eats it while keeping a wary eye on Captain Baker, then rolls over and goes to sleep. I stand up and move back to the front of the cave, helping to pass out the water and taking a few gulps for myself before settling down on the floor. 

A cry of alarm prompts the raiders to dive for cover as a lone arrow lands in the middle of the camp. None of them budge for a few minutes, cowering under tables or against the walls, anticipating a rain of arrows. When none arrive, the raiders edge out of cover to find the arrow has a letter tied to it. The head raider unfurls the letter and passes it to the next one. Then the next. Each raider shakes his head. Finally, the letter is taken to me. “You. Read this.” I take the letter and find a paragraph written in neat, loopy handwriting. The message inside makes my heart sink. phrases like "refuse to be told what to do by raiders," "not worth that much," and "you will face the wrath of Astora" mean that rescue isn't coming. The King expects us to die so he can hold onto his money.

"Well? What are you waiting for?!" "Nothing. Sorry." My mind is racing as I open my mouth. If the raiders know rescue isn't coming then they'll work us until we drop, or kill us where we stand. I need to bargain for time until I can find another out.

“Dear citizens of Carim-” 

My voice is hoarse. I can barely hear myself talk. I pause and clear my throat, making sure those in the back of the cave can hear me as I read out the news. 

“Dear citizens of Carim,  
You will be pleased to hear that I am willing to pay the full sum upon discovery that the prisoners are safe and sound. An envoy will arrive in a week’s time to inspect the captured soldiers to ensure their safety. After their safety has been verified they will retrieve the silver and return in a matter of days.  
I must stress, however, that if even one soldier is killed, I must be forced the bring down the force of the Royal Guard. I will not tolerate the murder of Astoran citizens.  
Sincerely,  
The King.” 

I roll up the letter and hand it back to the raider, who seems delighted. He walks off with his comrades, talking and laughing in their native tongue. The other soldiers seem happier as well - except the one next to me, who looks on the verge of tears. “You read the letter?” He nods. “Don’t tell them.” “What are we going to do?” “I don’t know. But I’ll think of something.” “If you don’t-” “I know. I will. Trust me.” “If they find out you lied then we’ll all hang.” “If I told them the truth we’d hang anyway. I’m buying us time.” The soldier can’t argue with that. He gives me a lingering look before doing his best to get comfortable. 

I lean my head on the cave wall and sigh. So much for royal protection. We’re on our own out here - the king of Astora has determined fifteen talents too steep a price and refuses to pay. I don’t know if he intends to send reinforcements to bail us out. What I do know is that if we want to get out of here alive, we’re going to have to bust out. I stay awake until the early hours of the morning trying and failing to concoct a plan. We outnumber the enemy, but the enemy is well-armed and much more skilled in battle than we are. Unless we can get our hands on some weapons or find a way out of here undetected, we’re going to take a lot of casualties. 

I’m so absorbed in thought I fail to notice the head raider storming up to the cave. I also miss the whip trailing along behind him, and the letter from the king held in an angry fist. I only notice these when the cell door slams open and I’m grabbed by my throat. “LIAR!” I’m thrown from the cell, landing in a heap on the ground. The letter is hurled at my face along with a boot to the gut. “One of our hunters reads Astoran, you snake!” My eyes dart around until I find a raider standing off to the side with an evil grin, shotels dangling from his hip. “He says the king will not pay!” Before I can try and argue I’m kicked again, this time on the face. One of my teeth cracks and blood fills my mouth. “If the king will not pay, then you are of no use to us except as workers. Workers who will toil long and hard if they want a chance in hell of seeing tomorrow!” 

The raider turns to my comrades in the cave. “Do you hear me?! Long and hard! You will break your backs and keep on working if you want to see tomorrow!” Anger bubbles up inside me. Anger at the king who won’t shell out for his own military. Anger at the raiders who’re going to beat us, anger at Captain Baker and his ego, and above all anger at myself for getting myself into this. The raider goes to kick me again but I raise my arms. “Wait! I know another way to get the silver! More, in fact!” “Lies!” “Then you’ll never get the money!” The boot hits but it’s definitely pulled back. “How? Tell me how to get the money and I might let you go.” 

“It’s buried not far from here. Not in silver, but gems and gold.” “I swear to the gods if you’re lying I’ll string you up by your-” “Not lying. I promise.” “Where?” The raider is bent over me, face inches from mine. Perfect. I take a second like I’m trying to remember, head bowed. As I raise my head I know I’m going to be beaten at the least. Hung at the worst. But I’m so damned mad I can’t care any less. 

I open my mouth and send a wad of blood and spit into the face of the raider. My tooth bounces off his nose and he recoils, exclaiming in disgust. A couple of the men in the cell laugh. The raider glares down at my bloody grin furiously. “Shut up. SHUT UP!” The whip cracks and the men are silenced instantly. “Get him on his knees. I’m going to show everyone here what’ll happen if they even think about disobeying!” 

In my almost manic state I can’t help but gripe as I’m hauled up. “Don’t trust yourself in a fair fight, huh? Have to ambush and wear down for victory?” My shirt is ripped off. “Gonna whip that smart mouth of yours into the dirt.” “I’d like to see you try!” A fire like I’ve never felt is raging inside of me, fueled by fear and rage and despair. A fire that is swiftly stifled with the first crack of the whip. 

* * * 

“NO!” I jump to my feet and whip my knife around, searching crazily for the Carim raiders. They were just here. I know they were. I spin around the belfry, heart pounding in my chest. It takes me a minute to realize that it was a dream. Once the revelation sinks into my fear-addled brain I hesitantly put my knife away and walk over to the lever. I pull it without any trouble now that I’m rested. The bell tilts and begins to chime deafeningly as I climb the ladder back to the ground, still trying to get my pulse and mind under control. 

I drop to the ground, calm for the most part, to find a man clad in all black, arms outstretched, looking at me from underneath a curiously shaped helm. When he sees my hand go for my knife he speaks. “Greetings. I am Oswald of Carim, the Pardoner. Thou art a friend. For thee, a warm welcome. Cometh thou to confess? Or to accuse? For indeed all sin is my domain.” He smiles, not unlike a wolf spotting a wounded lamb. Goddamn Carim. Their people must grow out of the mold here. “Who do I have the pleasure of absolving today?” Oswald reaches behind him and freezes when I put my hand on my knife. 

“Be at ease, friend. No harm will come to you unless you bring it on yourself.” Oswald very slowly reveals a leather-bound book that looks about as old as Lordran itself - it’s worn and held together by scraps and prayers. “Name and place of birth, if you wouldn’t mind.” “If it’s all the same to you I think I’d rather…” Hang on. Maybe I shouldn’t dismiss this. I’m not on edge like I was with Lautrec, and I trust my gut instinct. If Oswald has a book with my sins in it, maybe I can glean something more about myself. Or maybe he’s a raving lunatic who broke into a library. 

“I’m Lucky,” I say, reversing my previous statement. “Lucky of Astora.” Oswald opens up his book and takes a moment to look for my name. While he flips through the pages he glances up at me and smiles again. “So the gods have abandoned thee as well?” “I beg your pardon?” “I can see it in thine eyes. A shocking lack of faith, if I say so myself.” My eyebrows knit closer together. “What’s it to you?” “It is my livelihood. I can absolve thee from sin and restore faith.” “Not interested.” Oswald shrugs and continues to search. 

Oswald’s finger lands on a spot in the book. “Lucky of Astora. Age: Twenty-six. Profession: Knight of Gwyn.” My heart leaps. The book’s legitimate. Oswald skips over a few more identifying details before reaching the part I want. “Here we are. In Velka’s book of sinners, thou art...absolved.” Oswald looks disappointed as he returns the book to its bag behind him. “I’m...I’m what?” “Absolved. The scales are balanced.” “What does that mean?” “That thou hast never committed an undefendable act against his fellow man.” Oswald suddenly chuckles. “Thine attire rather contradicts both thy profession and lack of sin. Why would thou be dressed like a thief in the night?” “That’s what I was hoping to find out.” 

I sigh and allow my body to sag for a moment. “Thanks for trying anyway. I’m going to be off now.” “Good fortune, child of Astora. Thou art always welcome here. Remember - it is only human to commit a sin.” Oswald laughs again and I set off back to Firelink, hoping for a quick rest before going into the bowels of Lordran for the second bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise once finals week wraps up that the chapters will be coming faster. Until then, I'll still write when I can. Sorry for the delays, I hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	11. A Brief Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick stop at Firelink Shrine before the long journey to the second Bell of Awakening.

I step out of the lift from the Parish to Firelink and sigh with relief. One bell down, one to go. I’ll head to it after a quick break to catch up with the miseryguts who hasn’t budged an inch from the bonfire since I’ve gotten here. I’ve actually found him somewhat reliable company. He has nothing but contempt for me, convinced I’m just one more Hollow attack away from giving up, but he can be funny and is at least willing to talk. I walk through the ruins and spot the bonfire when I hear a small cough to my right. 

I place my hand on my knife out of habit. I’m not particularly worried but it’s better to be safe than sorry, I don’t remember anyone being here last time I came through. I turn the corner to discover a larger man standing by the wall, shield and morning star in hand with heavy leather armor resting over his frame. “I hope you aren’t planning on using that weapon.” The man jumps a little and looks over at me. “You’re not a Hollow?” I frown. “Not since last I checked. I’m sorry, have we met before?” “You tore through here some hours ago. I attempted to speak to you but you just kept running.” I did use the lift once to get the good Firelink ashes for my Estus flask before returning to the Parish, and I was in a hurry to get back up. I must have just missed him as I went through. 

“Apologies for that, I had something else on my mind. My name’s Lucky.” I extend a hand and the man shakes it. “Petrus of Thorolund.” “What business brings you to Lordran?” Petrus grimaces slightly. “I’m sorry, but I cannot divulge that information. I would prefer if you kept a distance, if possible.” “Ah. I understand. I didn’t mean to pry. I’ll be on my way then.” I nod my head and turn around. After a few steps towards the bonfire I hear Petrus shift, armor rattling slightly. “I-I didn’t mean ill will!” He calls after me. I stop and face him again. “Here. A token of peace.” He tosses me something underhand. It glitters in the sunlight as it sails through the air and into my hand. I catch it and hold it up to the light to get a better look. It’s a coin minted from copper, the face of Old Man McLoyf looking back at me. God of medicine and drink. 

“Thank you,” I say as I pocket the coin, more than a little surprised at his generosity. “It’s a fine gift.” Not much use now, where everyone seems to only accept souls as currency, but it’s a nice sentiment. Siegmeyer would like it, given his propensity for drink and revelry. “You know, I’m stuck here waiting for my companions. What do you say I teach you some miracles?” I scratch my chin and frown, remembering what the Pardoner said in the bell tower about my lack of faith. He’d probably know better than I would at this point. “I can’t say I’m one for miracles. Sorry. It would just be a waste of your time. Thank you for the offer.” “Ah. I understand.” Petrus bows his head slightly. “Perhaps I’ll see you around. Don’t be a stranger.” “You as well.” I return the bow and walk back to the bonfire to refill my Estus flask and regain my strength. 

Once I’m feeling back to my usual self I head over to the man in chainmail. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect you to make it back. While you were gone someone rang the bell in the Undead Parish.” “That was me?” “Oh? Really? Well, color me surprised. You’re not one to give up, are you?” “Nope.” I take a seat next to the man and stretch out. “Anything change here while I’ve been gone?” “A crow flew off with someone curled up in a ball.” “Pardon me?” The man nods and gestures up at the tower behind us. “Strange, isn’t it?” “Yeah. Huh.” What would possess someone to do that? 

“A cleric has taken up residence a bit further back in the ruins.” “I chatted with him for a bit. Seems nice.” The man shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. He asked me a couple questions about the surrounding area before growing frustrated and going back there.” “Why’d he get mad?” “I gave short answers, which he didn’t appreciate. Not everyone is as persistent as you in making conversation.” I chuckle a little and nudge the man. “If you had it your way you’d stay silent until you rotted away here.” “And if you had it yours you would talk me to death.” “Oh, cheer up.” I reach into my pocket and root around. “Here. I found something that should interest you a bit.” I pull out a blackened chunk of the gargoyle I killed with the firebombs. 

“You brought me...a rock?” “It’s the scale of a massive gargoyle I had to kill to reach the bell. This thing looked like a stone bear that learned to use a halberd.” “A stone scale?” “Yes!” “So you did bring me a rock.” He looks down at his feet and reaches into the dirt. “Look! I got you one too!” I roll my eyes. “Alright, you sad sack. I’m heading to the second bell now. I don’t suppose you’d want to tag along?” “And put in effort? I’d rather keep an eye on the bonfire, thanks.” “Suit yourself.” I stand up and roll my neck. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to work too hard.” “Don’t get yourself killed. I’d hate to not get any more precious rocks.” I can’t help but smile. 

“Oh, before you go - one more person arrived. A man in curious golden armor.” I freeze. “Lautrec?” “Didn’t mention his name.” “Where is he?” My hand shoots to my dagger. “Downstairs by the Fire Keeper. Have you met her yet?” “I didn’t know she was down there.” “You should go pay them a visit and annoy the man for a while. Maybe he’ll leave.” “Don’t like him?” “I don’t like anyone.” No, there’s something more to this. I can tell. If it is Lautrec, something about him is setting my friend on edge. Good to know I’m not the only one uneasy around him. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll go see what they’re up to.” My friend waves dismissively and closes his eyes. I still haven’t weaseled his name out of him, I’ll have to do that later. I find the stairs and walk down to see what Lautrec’s gotten himself into. 

I reach the bottom of the stairs to find Lautrec just sitting in the grass, facing the wall. “Ah, hello there. I have your reward right here.” He reaches into his armor and pulls out a small golden coin, which he flips to me. I quickly examine it - a sun on the surface, like what Solaire has on his shield - before shoving it in my pocket. “Thank you for rescuing me from that cell. Now I can get back to work...heh heh heh.” “And what work would that be?” “Nothing you’d need to worry about.” Lautrec looks up at me. “Hmm...still human, are you? How have you managed that?” His voice is a low purr. Greedy, almost. “Luck, mostly.” “No doubt a healthy portion of that.” He turns his attention back to the wall. “We may be able to help each other out. For a little while. I’m going to be moving on soon enough. The Keeper has served me well enough for the time being, but...well, enough with her.” 

I follow Lautrec’s gaze and my heart skips a beat when I see what he’s been focused on all this time: A young blonde woman in a bloodstained dress and shoved into a pit carved out of the earth, iron bars imprisoning her. In a few short steps my hands are wrapped around them and I’m tugging as hard as I can. “Miss? Are you awake?” She doesn’t move. “Miss, who put you in here?” “It’s no use,” Lautrec informs me, sounding slightly amused. “The townspeople knew what they were doing with her.” I kneel down and try to catch her eye to no avail. Her head is bowed and she could be dead with how little she moves. “She can’t talk, either. Had her tongue cut out.” “How do you know that?” “Call it professional intuition.” 

Despite Lautrec’s contradictions I continue to search for a loose bar, a loose stone, anything I can pry. “Oh, give it a rest. The Lass isn’t good for anything except keeping the bonfire running and improving your Estus flask. But you’d need a Fire Keeper soul for that.” Fire Keeper soul? “Where would I find something like that? By killing another one of her?” Gods, if they’re like her it might almost be a mercy. Whoever maimed her is a truly sick person. “Not necessarily. If you’re lucky enough you’ll find one in the open, just waiting for someone to take it. I believe there was one in the Parish, but I wasn’t able to find it upon my release.” 

The memory strikes like a lightning bolt. The slaughtered woman on the altar. The glowing orb. I pat my torso until I find it and pull it out of its holding place. Lautrec stares at it. “That...that would be it.” His voice is tinged with envy. Ignoring him I turn to the Fire Keeper. Her head has perked up and her eyes are locked onto the soul. Hesitantly, very hesitantly, her hand reaches out. I hand it to her, wordlessly. She closes her eyes and presses it against her chest. The soul glows intensely for a brief moment before vanishing, taking with it the Fire Keeper’s interest with the world outside her cell. She returns to her previous state; cowering and still. 

With a sigh, I get to my feet. Poor wretch. “Well? Has your flask changed?” I pull it out and give it a cursory glance. “Maybe. Bit longer.” I really couldn’t care less. My thoughts are more occupied with the woman in the cell. “Heading out?” “To the second bell.” I begin to head up the stairs. “Stay safe.” “Mhmm.” I like nothing about the man. He reminds me of a snake: slinking through the grass, hiding until the perfect moment to strike and take what he wants. I walk over to my friend by the bonfire. “Do me a favor, will you? Keep an eye on the man down below. I don’t trust him.” “Only if you’ll finally leave me alone.” “Thank you.” With a nagging paranoia in my brain, I turn back to the Undead Burg, ready to tackle the challenges facing me to reach the second Bell of Awakening.


	12. To the Depths

The abomination’s teeth clamp down on the floor, inches from my body. I roll to my feet and drive my knife into its side. The phantom of Lautrec sprints past, targeting the dragon’s tail with his shotels while Solaire pummels it with lightning. This thing was a nightmare when I first saw it - a gigantic dragon climbing from the sewers, its belly split open, limbs and tail flailing, hell-bent on killing me and the two phantoms I brought along. My target shield and clothes are corroded down to almost nothing thanks to the dragon’s ability to spew putrid acid, and a number of lacerations are steadily weeping blood. My empty Estus flask bumps against my hip as I pull my dagger out and back up. 

The dragon uproots its teeth and tenses its hind legs. I dive to the side as it charges towards Solaire, Lautrec hot in pursuit. The Phantom gets off one last bolt of lightning before being trampled and vanishing beneath the heels of the dragon. Perfect. Now I’m down a man. The dragon wheels around and I prepare to take another dive into the sewer muck when it suddenly throws its head back and releases an earth-shattering scream before collapsing. I see Lautrec roll off the dragon’s back, shotels dripping blood. He gives me a quick nod before slowly vanishing alongside the dragon’s corpse. I was hesitant about summoning him, but I remembered that, when I did the same with Solaire, the knight’s phantom was little more than a husk. 

I walk over where the dragon died and disappeared to find an iron key and some more small black flames that I seem to find whenever I kill a particularly large enemy. I collect them all and take a deep breath as I feel the adrenaline ebb from my body. The smell of the sewer, long ignored due to near-constant peril, now hits my nostrils like a mace to the gut. Gods, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled so badly in my life. I’ll be lucky if my wounds don’t start to fester as well. I sheath my almost-dulled knife and make my way back to a bonfire I found along the way, skirting past a couple hollows and rats. Upon reaching the room the bonfire is housed in I take stock of my supplies. 

My immediate weapons and armor are degraded down to almost nothing. It’s a shame, really - I was getting used to them. With those, I have a number of usable but not exactly preferable items I’ve looted along the way. Thankfully my supplies seem to follow me from bonfire to bonfire, thanks to a peculiar box I purchased from an undead vendor in the Undead Burg, along with a key that let me free a young sorcerer I found trapped in a small village beneath Undead Burg proper. I hope he’s made it back to Firelink alright - him and the pyromancer I found in the clutches of a crazed butcher. I’ll have to check in on them later. Sorceries don’t particularly appeal to me, but pyromancy could be useful. 

I examine my gear more closely and curse. I should have bought some repair tools from Andre while I was in his store. I silently kick myself for that lack of foresight while I examine the equipment I do have at my disposal. 

My shield replacement is fairly obvious: a lightweight shield with a spider painted on it that I found here in the sewers. It’s a fair bit larger than my target shield without being a great deal heavier so I won’t be overburdened. There’s a standard longsword I wrested from an undead soldier near Firelink Shrine that isn’t nearly as sharp as my knife, but it’ll get the job done. Better than that Black Knight Greatsword that almost dislocated my arm with every swing. Now for armor. I briefly entertain the idea of continuing in naught but my skivvies but quickly dismiss it. That’ll be a good way to wind up with a few unwanted holes in me. After examining everything I’ve collected up to now I resign myself to undead soldier armor. It reeks (not as bad as the sewers, but close) and is heavier than what I’d prefer but it’s better than nothing. 

I pick up, feeling slightly off-kilter, and head to a locked door I found earlier near the bonfire. Next to it is a curious merchant who decided to peddle his wares in the sewer. He’s nice enough, and his wares are certainly of high quality, but most are too expensive for my blood. I picked up some gold pine resin but that was about it. I nod a “hello” to him as I pass by and unlock the gate, stepping out of the sewer and into a gigantic drainage pipe. I step to the edge and peer off the side. Good Gods, that’s a far drop. I hug the wall and begin edging around towards a rickety ladder off to the side when a wave of panic crashes into me. My chest tightens and my heart starts to hammer the inside of my chest. I quickly sit down before I lose my balance and close my eyes. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to get out now. To hell with the prophecy, just get back to Firelink and sit by the fire until I go Hollow. 

“String ‘im up!” A gurgling voice roars. My eyes shoot open and I look around for the source of the voice. I’m completely alone. “He’s human! We can kill him!” A mutated creature appears in front of me and makes a grab at my throat. I shout and scramble back against the wall. When I blink it’s gone. What’s gotten into me? “This is what we do to Gwyn’s sheep!” Fear wraps its icy fingers around my heart. I’m close to death. Close to being killed. No, not just that - someone’s going to be waiting for me, and he won’t know what’s happened. I need to get back to safety. Now. 

I quickly get to my feet and move back into the main sewer to take a seat next to the merchant, Domhnall I think his name was, who simply watches me. “Are you alright?” “Panic attack. Fine. Just need a minute.” I take deep breaths and rub my temples. “That drop is rather unpleasant,” He remarks. “It wasn’t that. Heights don’t bother me. It was like...I saw something. A vision.” “Ah. Those can be just as bad.” “You wouldn’t happen to have any drink for sale, would you?” 

Domhnall thinks for a second. “You could try drinking the gold pine resin.” “Heh. I think I’ll pass on that, thanks.” Domhnall’s armor jingles a little and he taps my shoulder. “Here. Try some of this.” He’s holding a mug of stew. “It’s rat meat and some mushrooms I found growing from the wall. It’s quite good.” I don’t feel hungry but it’s worth a shot. I accept the mug and tip the stew into my mouth. Huh. It’s actually not bad. I finish it off and hand the mug back. “Thank you. I needed that.” “But of course.” “Do Undead usually need to eat?” I haven’t felt hungry since leaving the Asylum but my body hasn’t rejected any food I’ve put in it. “No, but some good food can go a long way to fortifying oneself.” I reach into my pocket and find the Sunlight medal that Lautrec gave me. I don’t have a use for it, but…“Here. For the stew. Thank you.” I hand it to the merchant. 

Domhnall graciously accepts it. “Feeling better?” He asks. “Lots.” “Good. Stay safe. I’d hate to lose a customer.” I grin and rise to my feet. “Hopefully I’ll see you again.” I walk back out to the drainage pipe and brace myself for another mental assault, but none comes. That doesn’t stop a very real sense of foreboding from haunting me as I descend the ladder and land on a ramshackle wooden platform over the pipe held together with rotting rope and prayers. I drop down to a lower platform and a roar reaches my ears, emanating from a hole punched through the side of the pipe. A hulking barbarian lumbers out of the gloom. His flesh is decaying off his bones and the only thing preventing him from being bare to the world is a tattered loincloth. Great. I thought fighting Undead soldiers in decrepit cathedrals was bad enough. Now I have to kill walking corpses in sewer offshoots. 

The barbarian is dragging a massive club behind him and I’m suddenly very thankful that I ditched my minuscule target shield. I edge closer, staying in the middle of the rickety platform. If I can get behind him I can put an end to this fight in a second. The barbarian hefts his club up and roars again before swinging it down, punching a hole in the platform. I quickly run up and dodge to the side only to catch an elbow to the face. I stumble and catch myself before going off the side. “Kill the bastard!” Hands start to grab at me. Oh, Gods, not again. I shake my head and try to refocus on the barbarian, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow from the club. They can’t hurt me. It’s in my head. The tip of a knife appears in my chest but no clear pain with it. Imagination again. Ignore it. Focus on the walking boulder trying to crush you. 

The barbarian swing again and I rush in, plunging my sword into his chest. He bellows in pain and I wrench it out before he can retaliate. I duck a punch and roll to his side. My sword slashes at his arm, piercing the rotting flesh like a hot knife through butter. He tries to lift the club but his now-mangled arm isn’t making it east. Before his addled brain can make good sense of it I continue the assault. Voices shouting for my death. Phantom blades attacking me. My own sword making mincemeat of the powerful but incredibly slow barbarian. After countless slashes and stabs the barbarian’s will finally breaks, his legs giving out under his own weight and tumbling into the blackness below. 

Despite barely being injured I take a swig of Estus as I push further into the dark cave carved into the wall. The warmth and sweetness helps to quiet the voices and visions for a few seconds as more barbarians rush towards me. I dispatch more of the lumbering terrors as I press on, taking a couple club hits to the chest due to my heavier armor not letting me move as fast. But the barbarians are slower than I ever was and I don’t have much trouble getting around them. If this is the worst I have to face to the second Bell of Awakening, I’m in good shape. 

Then I see the ghouls. 

As two bear down on me from the murky darkness, the first thing that occurs to me is that they’re worse than the barbarians are in terms of looks - heads like eels, discolored, pale flesh, fingers like gnarled roots. The second thing that hits is how frighteningly familiar they are. The instincts that have been telling me to get out of here since I stepped into the drain pipe go wild. Breathing gets tough. I feel like a belt’s been wrenched tight around my chest. Another one on my throat. It takes all my strength just to block a clumsy spear thrust and dodge an attack from a...oh, Gods. A corpse. It’s using a corpse as a weapon. 

I put the ghouls down fast. They’re ferocious but not very skilled in terms of fighting. Once they’re dead, all I can do is stare at the fiends. From the neck down they could pass for human. They very well might have been human once. Before they turned into these hideous things. I take another sip of Estus. The voices are getting louder and more aggressive. I’ve been here before, that’s a fact. It ended badly, too. But I can’t give in to my cowardice. I have a duty to fulfill. No matter how painful it might be, I have to press on. 

I spot a clump of purple moss clutched in the hand of one of the ghouls. Poison protection. If the ghoul thought protection against poison was a threat, I should probably take the moss. Better safe than sorry. I kneel down and a flash of wood passes right in front of my face. Darts! I snatch the purple moss and begin sprinting down the path as more darts trail me. Damn this place! If I’m not careful this’ll end badly again. The wood shakes and I hear hissing from further down the wooden structure. Reinforcements. I curse and tighten my grip on my sword. Ignore the voices. Ignore the visions. I’m going to make it out this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should come quickly, but it'll be fairly short - not to worry, the one after will more than make up for it. I hope y'all are enjoying it so far, and thank you for your continued support!


	13. A Twisted Maze

The wood creaks and sways beneath my feet. I fight back nausea as I sprint across, lightly hopping from plank to plank, wooden darts dipped in toxic sludge shooting past my head. Several ghouls try to follow but almost all of them fail to keep their footing. One appears in front of me and I quickly drop my shoulder. As soon as I make contact the ghoul turns into air. Another hallucination. I reach the other side of the rickety bridge and clamp onto a ladder lashed to the wall, scampering to the floor above and dispatching more of the seemingly never-ending supply of insane mutants. Only the Gods know where I am in this damned maze. This place could only be the work of the desperate and borderline mad. There’s no logic or reasoning to this settlement. No clear layout. Half the paths lead to dead-ends and plummets to certain death. 

I hear a hiss and look down the ladder to see that a number of the ghouls have followed me and are starting to climb. If I fight that many I’ll be swarmed for sure. Alright, I need an out. I look around the roof. There’s one path down...but it ends five feet after it starts. I kick the first ghoul back down the ladder I came up and keep looking. Come on, isn’t there anything I can use to get out of here? A ladder on the outside of the shack, a rope I can climb, a...whip? Across the bridge I just sprinted over and up a couple stories is a falchion planted into a wooden platform with a whip hanging from it, the end tied in a noose. “This is what we do to traitors!” A voice bellows in my ear as leather tightens around my throat. My heart skips a beat and I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. 

That was definitely a flashback. The ghouls here can’t talk anymore. Oh, damn it - the ghouls! I whip back around to find that they’ve swarmed up the ladder while I was lost in thought. Way too many to fight on such a small platform. I swing my sword to keep them at bay while I think. Can’t fight. Can’t go down the ladder. No other clear way off. Unless...no. That’s suicide. Then again, so is staying up here. I glance backwards. The bridge is about twenty feet downwards and two feet across. Prone to swaying. A little slippery in points. I either try to make it onto there or definitely get torn to shreds. Yep, the bridge my best option. Without a second’s hesitation I turn and leap off of the bridge. 

The wind whistles in my ears as I sail down. A million thoughts - some my own, some hostile voices clamoring for my death - are screaming in my mind as the bridge rushes up to meet me. My feet strike the wood and my knees buckle as pain shoots up my leg. I made it! Oh, thank the Gods, I made it! My victory is short-lived, however, when I hear the ghouls roar and start back down the ladder. I start to stand and almost immediately cry out in pain. My leg’s bust. The fall was too much. I quickly reach down open up my Estus to find it empty. I must have drained it while trying to keep the hallucinations at bay. I curse a blue streak and glance behind me. The ghouls are coming fast. I need to get a move on. 

I wrench myself to my feet and start to move. Unbelievable pain is radiating up my leg. It’s broken for sure. I grit my teeth and keep moving. To where, though? I haven’t seen a clear exit or bonfire. I’m not even sure where I came in from. “The whip.” The words, coming from my own mouth, surprise me. Why the whip? Shockingly, I don’t start to argue with myself. Apparently what’s still trapped behind the wall of fog in my head knows something I don’t. Fine. The whip. It’s the only point of reference I have right now. 

Managing to limp ahead of the ghouls I find a ladder and start to climb up. I grab the first rung which immediately falls off, rotted completely through. I glance back and fear jolts through me. Ghouls are closing in fast. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is going to hurt. A lot.

With both legs I leap up and grab the next rung. As soon as my fingers close around it I almost black out from the excruciating pain. Using every scrap of willpower left in me I pull myself up to the next rung. And the next. And the next, until I’m up on the second floor. I’m alone up here - just this platform, then the one above with the whip and falchion. I whip out my sword and start hacking at the ladder, knocking out the rungs and slicing the fingers of the monsters trying to reach me. After a few minutes the ladder is destroyed and the ghouls are all very displeased with me. 

I roll over and fill my lungs with air. So many ghouls. So many mutated freaks trying to chop bits off me. The sooner I’m out of here the happier I’ll be. I rise up to my feet and take a look at the ladder to the noose. “This is it. This is my hell. Endless ladders with a broken leg.” I stuff a strap of leather from my armor between my teeth to bite down on while I move up. It feels like an eternity, but I manage to reach the top. I spit the leather out and lean against the wall for support. Just to be safe, I hack this ladder to bits as well. I’m going to need a rest and I don’t need some creature biting a chunk out of my neck while I try to catch my breath. 

Once the ladder is totally unusable I toss my sword to the side and turn to face the falchion stuck into the wood. The swirling vortex of voices and calls for my blood is almost deafening. I limp over to the blade and the voices manage to grow even louder, morphing into a single chant: “Hang! Hang! Hang!” “Shut up. SHUT UP!” I slam the palm of my hand into my skull, which only succeeds in hurting my head. Come on, man! Get it together! I re-focus on the falchion and reach to its base to get the whip tied around it. As my fingers wrap around the leather the voices rise to a fever pitch...and stop. They all go silent, just like that. 

Relieved, I untie the whip from the falchion and undo the noose at the end. I toss it into my left hand before flicking the falchion from the wood. Now this is more like it. This sword’s quality is unbelievable. Razor-sharp and expertly balanced. Light, too, scarcely more than the knife I picked up in the Undead Asylum. The whip also feels oddly at home in my hand, my fingers settling in quite well to depressions made in its handle. Yeah, I’m definitely using these. 

I limp over to the wall and sit with my back to it for support, placing my newfound weapons beside me. The first one I look at in closer detail is the sword. It’s a bit shorter than a longsword, but a lot lighter. The handle is simple brass and leather, but carved in the crossguard is puny script that I can’t read - it’s a foreign language. Oh, well. As long as it can hack things to bits I couldn’t care less what the script says. 

Next the whip. Like the sword, the quality is extraordinary, and it’s been kept in good condition. I shake it out to find it’s long, too - right about eight feet long. My fingers tighten around the handle and I can’t help but smile. This feels...right. Almost like I’m home. I begin to roll the whip back up when an etching on the handle catches my eye. Someone cut something into the handle, very lightly, as not to disturb the braiding of the leather. I roll the handle over to get a better look and read the one word cut into the handle: “Lucky.” 

Two things happen almost immediately: The first is that a memory breaks free with such force it almost hurts. The second is I remember exactly why I fear Blighttown so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter before a much longer one, filled with plenty of surprises. Given the length, it'll probably take a little while but I promise to get it out as quickly as possible.   
> Thank you for your continued support!


	14. The Mission Brief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait. The past week has been incredibly hectic with the holidays and family and I only recently got some time to sit down and write. The good news is that now I have a good stretch of time before me until classes start up again and chapters should be coming more frequently. Thank you for bearing with me!

I groan and shove the mountain of scrolls on my desk to the side. When I was made a knight of Gwyn to lead troops in battle, I never thought it would entail so much bloody paperwork. I’ve fought three battles in as many years, and most of the time I’ve been in a tent watching the battle and giving orders. I had to sneak away from my bodyguards to wade into the action myself. “Never ask a subordinate to do a task you wouldn’t do yourself” is the law I try and live by. It’s served me well so far - as far as I can tell I’m well-respected among the troops, my fellow knights seem to like me, and Lord Gwyn hasn’t fired or killed me yet. Smough hates my guts, but I hate his so I think it’s even.

I rub my tired eyes as figures and names swirl in my head. The commander of the force stationed in Astora can’t run a supply line worth a damn, I’ll have to move an advisor in from somewhere. Raiders are prodding our defenses, I’ll have to crush that problem before it gets any worse. On top of it all, I keep getting reports about an “Undead Curse.” At first we thought it was a godsend - soldiers would die, but come back to life with a strange brand. Soldiers who couldn’t die? It’s an army’s dream! Only...something else about them changed. They started to forget themselves. Hate their undying state. Go mad. Kill anything that moved. Funny thing is that it’s only humans doing this - Silver and Black Knights stay dead. Same with those freaky man-serpents in Sen’s Fortress. 

To deal with the problem I implemented mandatory full-body inspections once a month. Any soldiers found with the mark - a “Darksign,” I believe is the term among the soldiers - are gathered and sent to the Undead Asylum until a cure’s found. Lord Gwyn and his uncle, Allfather Lloyd, ordered and oversaw its construction. It’s supposed to be a nice place, from what I hear. Minimal security, square meals, everything loyal soldiers of the Gods should get. Certainly better than the squalor in supposed “havens” like Blighttown. 

Metal strikes the door. “Bad time?” I open my eyes and see Ornstein in full combat gear standing in the doorway. “Not anymore.” I smile and rise from my seat. Our respective workloads have seemingly tripled as of late; I feel like I rarely see my dear friend. “Any word from Artorias?” “Not yet,” Ornstein replies. “The journey to Oolacile is a long one. Give him time.” “I know. Just anxious, is all. No one knows what’s happened in there.” “If anyone can handle it, it’s him.” 

I wearily hug my friend. “I’d rather be out in the field than stuck behind this desk. What’s the point of all this rubbish, anyway?” “Record-keeping and paper trails. So when someone messes up, we know exactly who to blame.” I chuckle. Ornstein and Artorias were the two that really helped to make me feel at home here in Anor Londo. Artorias left some time ago to deal with some threat in Oolacile, where Hawkeye Gough was stationed. The giant and I had little time to get acquainted before he was sent to his far-off post. Ciaran, or the “Lord’s Blade” is almost always out of the castle dealing with enemies of Lord Gwyn, and whenever she is in the castle she and Artorias are conspicuously absent from daily life. As with Gough, we have had little time to get to know one another. 

Ever since Artorias left Ornstein and I have been besieged on all sides by paperwork. Something big is happening, but I’m not clued in. “What’s with the armor?” “I was going to train with some of the Silver Knights for a while to get some energy out.” “Well, I’m glad you stopped by. How’s your work going?” “Tedious. I miss dragonslaying.” “Maybe one day you’ll get your wish and they’ll come back.” Ornstein snorts. “Yeah. My wish. Everyone else’s nightmare.” 

“Are you busy after dinner?” The words shoot from my mouth before I have a chance to analyze them and stick my foot in my mouth. “I beg your pardon?” “After dinner. Tonight. I was wondering if you had more paperwork to do or if you had a couple hours. It’s just that we’ve been so busy lately and I feel like we haven’t had a chance to properly talk since-” “Yes. I have a couple of hours free.” Ornstein sounds a little like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Ornstein says, stepping out of my office. “Lord Gwyn has hinted that we’re going to be getting new assignments soon and I’d hate having leftover paperwork.” “Really?” “I wouldn’t get too excited. The way he’s been talking recently, it doesn’t sound too pleasant.” “Anything’s better than endless paperwork.” “Anything?” Lord Gwyn’s booming voice in the hall makes me jump. Damn it, he definitely heard me complaining. Ornstein snaps to attention and spins around. “Don’t you have paperwork of your own to do, Ornstein?” “I was just going to take a short break and train with the Silver Knights, Lord Gwyn. Make sure they’re not getting rusty.” 

Gwyn comes into sight, stepping into my office with his usual scowl. Executioner Smough is right behind him. I don’t even bother trying to conceal my grimace when I see the executioner. He seems to get bigger every time I see him - by this point he’s having trouble fitting through the doorway. By the Gods, what is he eating? When Gwyn speaks I shift my attention back towards the Lord. “Well, I have good news for you, human. Because you so greatly despise the lofty position I have granted you, I have seen fit to send you on a mission to gather intelligence.” I perk up. “My lord?” “There have been rumors of a rebellion brewing among the other humans. I want you to find out where and when the humans are planning to stage their first attack.” “What if they aren’t planning anything?” 

Gwyn laughs mirthlessly. “You humans are always plotting something.” Ornstein, standing behind Gwyn, looks down at the floor. “Just go to Blighttown and find out who wants to dismantle my Age of Fire.” “And do what with them?” “Nothing. Simply report back to me. If you hang around longer to do anything else I’m afraid you’ll join them.” I bite my tongue. Ever since Artorias left, one of the few people who could speak out and not get immediately thrown in jail, Gwyn has increased his verbal assaults. I know damn well he doesn’t want me here. I also know that I’d have been fired long ago if I wasn’t good at what I do: organizing and leading soldiers. Even so, if I step a toe out of line, Gwyn will come down hard on me. Ornstein, however, has no reason to fear such retribution. 

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” The Dragonslayer says. “Speaking out against your Lord?” Smough retorts. “Not at all. Simply defending one of his knights.” “That’s enough, Ornstein.” Gwyn’s growl makes my pulse jump up. I try in vain to catch my friend’s eye. “Is it?” Ornstein asks, oblivious to my efforts. “Because you never seem to quit, My Lord. He’s been here for a few years and all you seem to do is belittle him.” “I’m warning you…” “Accuse him of being incompetent one day, treason the next. What’ll you paint him as tomorrow? A dragon sympathizer? Oh, I forget - you’re one already.” 

The sound of the backhanded slap reverberates throughout my office. The sound of flesh striking metal with enough force to dent it. Ornstein’s head is turned to the side, a crater in the cheek of his helm. Blood from Lord Gwyn’s knuckles drips silently to the floor. Without thinking my hand shoots to my falchion. Before I can draw it common sense takes over. Gwyn will flatten me before I can give him anything more painful than a paper cut. With a sour taste in my mouth I take my hand off my sword, leaving Ornstein to fend for himself. 

“You...forget...your place.” Ornstein doesn’t speak a word. He just swivels his head to look his Lord in the eye. “It is only out of gratitude for your aid in the dragon war and your loyalty over the centuries that I don’t throw you to Seath for his experiments. Consider us even now. If you so much as cough without permission…” Gwyn leaves the threat unspoken. Ornstein doesn’t flinch. 

“Smough?” Gwyn finally says after an almost unbearably tense minute. “Yes, Lord Gwyn?” “Give the human the mission details and tell him to get the hell out of my sight.” The executioner shuffles over and holds out an envelope. “Human, Lord Gwyn wants you to-” “I am a Knight, executioner.” Smough glares at me. I make no move to take the envelope. “Address me properly.” I’m not leaving here without getting what’s owed. “...Here are your mission details, sir.” Smough’s voice is absolutely venomous. I finally take the envelope and walk around him and Gwyn, managing at long last to catch Ornstein’s eye before leaving for my quarters to pack. 

* * *

I lay out my falchion and whip on my bed to inspect them for rust or any fraying leather. No deficiencies are found. Relieved, I sheath my blade and holster my whip. I grab my steel helmet and slide it over my head, along with my steel gloves and boots over my leather waistcoat. I’m double-checking my rucksack for my clothes when I hear the door handle jiggle. “Hello?” It’s Ornstein. “Lucky, are you in there?” “One second!” I buckle my rucksack and swing it over my shoulder before moving to the door to unlock it. As soon as the lock clicks Ornstein pushes his way in. “I’m going insane here, Lucky. A year ago I would have followed Gwyn to the ends of the earth. Now I don’t trust him to run a bath. Artorias is gone, along with the other two knights. I’m not sure how much longer I can...what’s the bag for?” 

My gaze drops to the floor. “I’m leaving tonight.” “What?” I hand Ornstein the paper with my mission details. “I’m to leave immediately. Gwyn doesn’t want the rebellion to get any stronger.” Ornstein slowly hands the letter back once he’s done reading. “This is lunacy. There’s not a rebellion in Blighttown.” “Not my place to say.” Ornstein sighs and crosses his arms. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Gwyn is losing it. He’s so paranoid it’s driving me mad.” He huffs and turns around, walking over to my window. “I wish his son was still here.” “Gwyndolin? He’s still here.” “Not...never mind. Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He falls quiet, looking out over Anor Londo. 

“Thank you for sticking up for me.” “Don’t mention it.” “I...I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to help you.” My cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. Damn it, I was a coward. I should have stepped in. “Help how?” Ornstein retorts. “Make Gwyn angrier and get yourself killed?” “Something other than just stand there.” Ornstein chuckles and turns around. “Trust me. You did the right thing.” He passes his fingers over the dent in his helm. Then he shakes his head and looks over my armor. “I hope you aren’t thinking of wearing that to Blighttown.” I look down at my armor. “What’s wrong with it?” “You’re in your uniform. It’d be like me walking down in my golden armor, you’ll be recognized instantly.” Ah. That would make a covert mission difficult. 

I quickly take off the steel helmet and gloves and hunt through my rucksack for something that’ll help me blend in more. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Ornstein asks. “Probably not that long, right? I just need to catch word of it then get back here.” I pull out a cloth hood and some leather gloves, keeping the steel boots. “Hurry back, will you? Whatever’s going on with Gwyn, it’s changed him, and not for the better. He needs someone back here who can think straight. Not that yes-man Smough.” “I will. I promise.” “Just to be safe…” Ornstein pulls at his finger and tosses me something underhand. Two items glitter in the sun before I snatch them out of the air. 

When I open my fist, two rings lie in my palm. One’s engraved with a lion. The other, a wolf. “This is your ring,” I say, inspecting the first. “This one was Artorias’.” I look up at the knight. “Why give them to me?” “That ring was made for me by the giant blacksmith in the west wing of the castle. The same one who improved your weapons and forged your armor. It’s a mark of my status and everything I’ve done for Lord Gwyn - a priceless piece of jewelry. The same is true of Artorias’ ring, which he gave to me for safekeeping before departing for Oolacile. I don’t know what I would do if I lost them. That’s why you are going to return them to me safe and sound.” 

My mouth is hanging open. The rings are obviously of very high quality. They both seem to give off a little bit of warmth - a reminder of the Sun, maybe? “Ornstein...I can’t take these. What if I lose them?” “Knowing you, the only way you’d lose something that important is if you were about to die. Hopefully they’ll be incentive to keep your arse out of trouble and get back here in one piece.” There’s an edge of desperation in his voice. Maybe. The knight is excellent at keeping emotions hidden when he so chooses, so I could be imagining it. I slide the rings onto my fingers, where they fit perfectly. “I promise you I’ll get them back to you as soon as possible. No extra risks or detours.” “Good.” 

Ornstein sighs and looks back out of the window, cursing under his breath. “The days seem to be getting shorter, don’t they?” Before I can answer he waves his hand. “Never mind. I’m probably imagining it.” He stares out over Anor Londo, finger tapping against his arm. If this was my first time meeting him I’d say that he’s stoically preparing himself for the days ahead. After a few years together I know better. He’s uneasy. An emotion that doesn’t usually strike the knight, who’s seen more action than most soldiers would in two lifetimes and is one of the most capable warriors I know. 

I pick up my rucksack and sling it over my shoulder. “I should be heading out soon. I don’t want Gwyn to get another reason to be angry with me.” “Right.” Ornstein pulls himself away from the window and walks me out of my room and down to the main hall. “When you get back we’ll have some time to catch up, yeah?” “If you get me my two rings back.” I grin and shake the knight’s hand. “Don’t get yourself thrown out of here while I’m at Blighttown.” “And don’t get yourself killed.” “Fair enough.” I turn towards the gigantic double doors of Anor Londo, destination and mission in mind. As I walk down the steps and towards the doors I glance back to find Ornstein watching me go. A sudden worm of fear crawls into my mind as I wave farewell and the knight does the same. I hope he manages to stay out of trouble.


	15. Betrayal

I emerge from the sewer onto the edge of a pipe utterly disgusted with the supposed safe road for Undead. It’s a path fraught with danger, from thieves to bandits to rats the size of dogs. Luckily, none seemed to be much of a match for my falchion and whip. If Blighttown is the refuge for Undead it purports to be, they should lock down the path to their haven so people aren’t scared off or hurt. Granted, a sewer is probably a good cover. People know how to get to Blighttown, but what commander would want to send a force through the sewer? “One who can’t wait to ditch his underling,” I mutter to myself as I swing down onto a rickety ladder. 

As soon as I land onto a wooden platform the tip of something sharp presses into my back. “No funny business, stranger.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” A hand grips my shoulder and I’m turned around to face my assailant, almost gagging when I do so. He’s like a walking corpse. The Undead levels his broadsword at my chest and steps back. “Ooh, a pretty one. Haven’t gotten a taste of death yet, have you?” He starts to laugh, which quickly turns into a hacking cough before he spits something into the pipe below. “Alright, pay up.” “Sorry?” He scowls and jabs me with the sword. “What’re you, deaf? Pay the entry fee!” “A thief in the sewer took all my money.” A blatant lie, but I’ll be damned if I have to pay for the privilege of entering a town above a swamp. 

The guard (I’m assuming that’s what his job is, he’s the first person who’s wanted money for a reason other than themselves) is not pleased with my response. “Well that’s your problem, not mine. Better find something to pay with or you’re not-” I whip my falchion out from its sheath and the guard yelps, slashing at me. I deflect the attack and kick the Undead back. He stumbles back and yelps when one leg goes off the platform. He teeters for a second and I manage to snatch his arm, but also make sure to push him back over the pit so the only thing holding him up is me. “Hey! HEY!” He hollers. “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?!” “Saving your life. For a small fee.” “Fine! You don’t have to pay the entry fee, happy now?” “Very.” I pull the guard back up and he catches his breath, shooting me a venomous look. “It’s down the tunnel there. Behave yourself.” 

I head down the tunnel the guard indicated and start to see Blighttown’s outskirts, comprised of ramshackle huts and watchtowers. I keep my hood up as I pass by the Undead here, all in various states of decay. Most are standing around fires trying to cook various bits of meat while others talk or read books they must have brought along. I keep my eye out as I pass by, looking for someone relatively isolated to start asking about this revolution. If I can just get one person to so much as whisper a mention of it then I can get out of here. I run my finger over my two new rings to make sure that I still have them on and lower my eyes as I pass by another guard, disinterestedly patrolling along the path. 

I continue to push into the heart of Blighttown, keeping my eyes peeled for anything of note. I pass a couple of places selling “fresh” food and unnamed meat, all of which are absolutely swamped with people trying to buy some good food instead of...whatever else it is they eat. Down here I don’t want to think about it too much. Or where these people are getting fresh meat. A wall crashes open and two men spill out onto the main path, brawling viciously with each other. I look around for a guard to help break it up but can’t find one. All the other occupants look on with interest, some shouting encouragement, but none intervene. 

The bigger of the two knocks the other down and falls on top, brutally beating the smaller man. My stomach turns in disgust as the crowd eggs him on, calling for blood. Animals. If they won’t help, I will. I stride over to the pair and kick the bigger one in the ribs, knocking him off. The crowd jeers and a couple people hurl bits of wood and other rubbish. The bigger one scrambles to his feet, eyes wild, and charges me. I step to the side and trip him up. “Put ‘im down!” Someone cries. I’m not sure which of us he’s talking to. I step over the bigger man before he can get up and press my falchion into his throat. “Are you going to behave?” Without a word the man shoots up, impaling himself on my blade and ending the fight for good. 

It takes a moment to process what’s happened. The man just willingly got up and ran himself through with my sword. I don’t believe it. The crowd groans and starts to disperse. “Good job ending a perfectly good Hollow fight,” one of the Undead spits at me as he passes by. Hollow fight? I look at the smaller man to see that he’s simply gotten up, seemingly unaware of his grievous injuries, and started wandering off. Good Gods above, this place is a nightmare. I get off of the bigger man I killed and half walk, half run away from the violent scene, around the corner and right into a man sleeping against the side of a wall. He jerks awake and looks up, trying to see who disturbed his rest. “Sorry about that,” I mutter as I turn away.

“Hey. Hey, you!” I ignore him and keep going. Maybe if I can get to Blighttown’s center than- “I know you!” “No, you don’t.” “You’re the Knight!” My heart skips a beat and I whip around. The man I ran into is young, he looks like he’s from Astora. “No, I’m not. You’ve got me confused with someone else.” “No, you’re him! I saw you fighting about a year back, next to my regiment. I’m Sergeant Derry. Well, I was a Sergeant, until the Darksign put an end to that.” He’s smiling, seemingly grateful. No ill will for my searches for the Undead in my ranks. Maybe he’s forgotten, depending on how far along his Hollowing is. “I have to say, I never thought I would see you down here. Undead Curse strike you, too?” “Actually, I’m not Undead yet. I was here for a different reason.” Maybe this can be used to my advantage. “What’s that?” “I’m looking for an insurrection against Gwyn. The old man’s lost it, and I want in. I heard there was one down here?” 

Derry freezes. “Are...are you serious?” “Deadly.” He looks around. “Alright. Follow me.” Derry turns around and begins to walk further into Blighttown. Well, that was easy. I follow closely behind the sergeant as we wind through the city. “So...if I can ask, why did you defect here? Why not go to the Asylum?” Derry snorts. “I’d rather die. If I could. It’s a prison.” I draw my eyebrows together. “I heard it was alright. Decent food, low security.” “Don’t believe your own propaganda, Lucky. The Undead are left there to be beaten and starved. Even this rotten place is better. So, you know. Thanks for that choice.” A new streak of harsh sarcasm has entered Derry’s inflection. “I honestly didn’t know.” “Sure you didn’t. Okay, here we are.” Derry opens up a door for me and waves me in. My gut tells me something’s off. The sudden change in tone, the willingness to lead me to a band of revolutionaries...maybe it’s all in my head. I’ll just make sure they’re revolutionaries, then I’ll leave. 

I walk into the dark room, able to only make out a few faces in the light from the walkway before Derry closes the door behind us and the room goes almost pitch black. “Boys, this is Knight Lucky himself, here to ask about a revolution.” This was a mistake. I messed up, I should not have trusted a sergeant that I got kicked out. “Now, we don’t exactly have a revolution, but we do have a lot of ex-soldiers, dishonorably discharged thanks to your orders.” My blade comes out but it’s too late. A black bag is shoved over my head and the drawstrings are pulled tight. “Let’s show him our gratitude!” I swing with my blade but a blow to my arm quickly puts it out of commission. More blows follow and I am quickly brought to the ground, at the mercy of these Undead.


	16. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucky finds how he wound up in the Asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There's a depiction of a hanging ahead. If that's something that you would prefer not to read about, check the TLDR at the end (Spoilers), as well as other notes.

Blow after blow lands on my body. I feel clubs, blunt swords, even just fists and boots hammer against me. Any attempt I make to get up or fight back just makes them even more vicious. My skin tears under the assault and I feel my right arm break for sure - maybe more, I’m not sure. It all hurts so much. After what felt like an eternity, Sergeant Derry calls the others off. “We can’t kill him. Not in here.” “And why not?” One of the other Undead asks. “He sent us here. He’s the reason we’re sitting in our own filth!” “I know,” Derry replies, calm. “I said we can’t kill him in here. But we can still kill him. I just think the others out there will want a show.” 

A pair of hands grabs under my arms and hauls me to my feet. I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can to keep from crying out in pain. The black bag is still over my head so I have no idea who’s doing what. Damn it, I can’t die here. I didn’t die in the Carim raider camp. I didn’t die in battle. I’m not dying to a bunch of half-crazed lunatics. My weapons are ripped off me and my arms are shoved behind my back, my broken one getting an extra twist before they’re tied together with a length of rope. I hear the door open and I’m shoved ahead. “You two take him up to my room. We can do him in there.” I’m pushed forward again but I do my best to stand fast, a plan piecing itself together in my head. 

I know for sure I’m on a walkway without rails. If I can knock one to the side I might be able to push him off completely. With one less I might be able to make a break for it if I can figure out how to get this sack off my head. To Hell with Gwyn and Blighttown, I’m just going to go back for Ornstein and then leave Anor Londo for good. “Move, damn you!” A club crashes into my lower leg and I fall to one knee. I stagger up and grimace. The sack will have to come later, I need to get a move on. I more or less remember the way. A couple paces, left, down the ladder, hang a right, then dodge buildings until I get back into the cave. Try to find an Undead to get this sack off. Derry speaks up. “You, Middleton, go and gather everyone up. No one’s going to want to miss this.” Middleton snickers. “Right you are.” He roughly pushes past me and I seize the chance. 

I shoulder Middleton as hard as I can, using every ounce of energy to send him off the side. He hollers and the wood creaks. I don’t wait to hear if he falls. On shaky legs I start to move down the platform, praying I don’t blindly overshoot it and go off the edge. Three steps in I stop and reach a foot out for the turn left. As soon as I feel it something wraps around my throat and yanks me back, toppling me and causing my head to crack against the wood. I’m pulled back by my throat and panic rushes over me when I struggle to breathe. “Looks like this whip is more useful than I thought,” Derry muses. “Middleton! You alright?” A boot stamps hard on my face, shattering my nose. “No thanks to him.” “Good. Gather the people.” Blood soaks the sack and I cough, still struggling to breathe. I’m hauled to my feet again and my own whip tightens around my throat. “Try anything like that again and I’ll have your leg.” I kick back and earn a knife in the back of my thigh. I can’t hold back a howl as pain explodes in my leg. “Walk.” 

It’s all I have not to just break down right then. Gods, it all hurts so much. Even the whippings I’ve endured didn’t hurt quite like this. I’m in this diseased town, all alone, sent here by a man who couldn’t care less if I live or die. I limp forward, my strength all but gone. Artorias left for Oolacile, I didn’t even get the chance for a proper goodbye with him. I barely knew Hawkeye Gough. I doubt Ciaran will notice my absence. Smough can rot for all I care and I know the feeling’s mutual. Now, because I was stupid enough to trust a man I condemned to this place, I’m going to die before I get a chance to talk with Ornstein. There’s so much I wanted to tell him. 

I’m forced up a set of ladders by a man pushing beneath me and another hauling me up. As a final insult I manage to kick the one beneath me in the jaw, which earns me another beating, but what can that deter? I’m about to die. I’m walked out onto a platform and Derry begins to tighten my whip, tying it into a noose. I hear people below me speaking amongst themselves and trying to find footing on the platforms. “What’s all this?” One of the Undead calls up. “Retribution!” Derry responds. He rips the bag off of my head and displays me to the gathered crowd. Good Gods, there must be a couple hundred of them gathered down there.”This man is part of Gwyn’s efforts to exterminate us! A human turned against his own!” 

Instantly the crowd is howling for my execution. Derry pushes me towards the edge and I dig my heels in as best I can. The Undead hurl insults my way. Filthy, huddled masses crowing for the death of one of the people who put them here. As I inch closer to the edge their hatred of me becomes more and more justified, oddly. Their Lord, who was supposed to protect them, actively prosecutes his loyal subjects. And I helped. The one human, the only one who would have spoken up, actively hunted down his own. I should be ashamed of myself. 

My feet begin to meet empty air and the bag is shoved back over my head. “I’m sorry.” Derry hesitates. No more than a fraction of a second, but he does. Then his entire body weight goes into the last push and I go over the edge and the air whistles in my ears and the crowd cheers and then nothing. 

* * *

Cold mud soaks through my pants and bare feet as I’m dragged through the mud. Rocks bump painfully into my legs and I ache all over. The familiar stench of Blighttown invades my nostrils and almost make me gag. Other than that, the bag over my head prevents me from knowing exactly where I am. “So we’re really just going to dump him down the sewer?” “Those are the orders.” “Shouldn’t we hang him up? Make sure people know what happens to traitors?” “Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is what we were told to do.” Am...am I alive? That can’t be right. I was hanged for sure. I was dead. I know I was. 

Before I can fully pull my thoughts together a pain like I’ve been stuck with a hot iron sears my chest, right above my heart. I can’t help but gasp in pain and double over as my clothes smoke and I pray in vain for relief. “He’s alive!” I’m dropped in the mud and the two people carrying me leap back. As soon as I hit the ground the pain vanishes as quickly as it came. I try to reach for my chest but find my hands are still bound. “Flip him over.” “Why?” “Just do it!” I’m rolled onto my back and one of the two presses his fingers onto my chest. “What? What is it?” 

The Undead standing over me chuckles slightly. “This just isn’t your day, is it?” He mutters. “He’s turned. See the Darksign? Burned a hole right through his shirt.” A morbid smile crosses my lips. Whatever divine being orchestrated this punishment must be laughing to itself right now. Hung by my own soldiers for persecuting them for a curse that I now have. Gwyn will have a field day with this if he ever finds out. 

The two Undead grab under my arms again and start to carry me. “Now what do we do?” “Still dump him down the sewer, I guess. I doubt he’ll get out of the swamp.” “Or…” They slow down. “Why don’t we give him the same treatment he gave us? It’ll be worse than the swamp, I guarantee that.” The bag is ripped off my head and the two Undead, their faces obscured by cloth masks, examine me. “We just dump him at the entrance to the sewer and he’ll get picked up sooner or later and shipped off to the Asylum.” “Not if they recognize him as one of the four knights of Gwyn. I doubt anyone would jail him even if he was Undead.” The sound of a knife being drawn from its sheath reaches my ears a second before it’s ripped across my face. I shout in pain and a cloth mask is rapidly secured over my face. “Now no one will recognize him, and who will believe a man dressed as a thief when he says he’s a knight?” 

I’m pulled to my feet again and the pair, laughing to themselves, take my steel boots and pull me up into the sewer proper. Once we reach the exit the pair cut more leather away to make sure the Darksign over my heart is plain and clear for all to see. “Have fun in the Asylum, Lucky. You’re going to love it there.” I’m booted out of the door and onto the streets of the Burg. Right into a passing guard, who takes one look at me and grabs me by my arm. 

* * *

With a pained gasp I wake up back in the diseased Blighttown, my broken leg in front of me and mutated abominations howling for my death yet again. I’m back. I’m in the present. I rub my eyes and look down at my weapons. Good Gods. I was a bastard. I push myself to my feet and place my falchion down so I can roll up my whip, still in a daze. As I pick it back up, a spot of orange glints off of the blade. I follow it to find the first bonfire in this awful place, across a maze of platforms and walls beneath me. At least now I have a clear direction. That is, until I find out how to get to Anor Londo so I can finally meet the person who’s been waiting for me for who knows how long: Ornstein. 

Just thinking his name gives me a little burst of warmth and unease. He was my best friend before all this happened. I hope he’s still okay, or that he doesn’t think I abandoned him. Gods, this is so much to think about. So much so that I just can’t focus on it right now. As much as I would love to think about how good it will be to see him or how many innocents I condemned to the Hell that is the Asylum, getting to the bonfire and second Bell of Awakening is my top priority. Then I can get back to Firelink and find out how in the name of Gwyn I get back to Anor Londo. 

I survey a route that will get me to the bonfire as fast as possible, starting with jumping over a very long drop to a landing below me by about five feet. All the things that want me dead in the immediate vicinity are directly below me. I have a broken leg, a falchion, a whip, and enough blood left in me to get to where I want to go. In other words, my chances are slim to none. So about what I’ve had since I broke out of the Asylum. Excellent. I put weight on the broken leg and grimace, but it holds. I pray to anyone still listening that it won’t completely give out underneath me. With that, I leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky is killed by the Undead he condemned to Blighttown with his own decrees and turns into one before being carted off to the Undead Asylum, being disfigured so he won't be recognized. Upon waking up back in the present he spots the Blighttown bonfire and makes a plan to reach it. 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, this will be the last flashback chapter for a while so we can make some headway with the present-day plot.


	17. Quelaag's fury

I wipe swamp muck and blood from my whip as I eye the red phantom standing between me and the bonfire. I barely escaped Blighttown alive (well, less dead than now) and found a curious cobweb-encased cave at the far end of the swamp, but before I venture further I need to heal up and this invader seems Hell-bent on not allowing that to happen. She’s a little portly, no armor save a leather bra and pants, but it’s obviously mostly muscle, because she can swing a cleaver the size of my leg with ease. My falchion won’t be able to block that. 

“I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me grab some more Estus before we have a punch-up?” She advances wordlessly, cleaver scraping the ground behind her. “Didn’t think so.” These phantoms are bothersome - one attacked me in the sewers wearing armor made from crude iron, with spikes protruding at every angle. He was a pain for sure, but this phantom makes me a little nervous. One sweep of that cleaver and I’ll be split in two. I flick my whip to the side, freeing it for a strike, and ready my falchion. 

The woman darts forward and swings her shield, trying to disorient me. I leap back and watch her cleaver. Sure enough, she brings around in a swipe. I’m far back, but the cleaver is so damned long the tip catches my chest and jerks me to the side. I scramble back and quickly take inventory of the ripped skin. Bloody but a flesh wound. Nothing major. Mildred raises her shield and I lash my whip, the edge whipping around the edge and striking her stomach. She grunts and brings the shield in closer, bringing her cleaver around for another blow. 

With finesse I didn’t know I possessed, I flick my whip into a coil, snatching the leather, moments before she brings her weapon down. I sidestep and swing the coil up to meet the cleaver. The expertly made leather braids stretch but don’t snap, forcing it to swing to the side and throw her off balance. My whip is trapped under her weapon but it doesn’t matter as I slash with my falchion, neatly severing her right arm. I kick her shield away and finish her off by driving my sword through her throat. She goes limp and slides off the end of my blade before vanishing, leaving behind some of her Humanity and cleaver. I leave the cleaver and take the Humanity before resting at the bonfire. 

As I rest by the fire I take another look at my weapons. They’re mine for sure. I haven’t felt nearly as comfortable with a weapon as I have with these two. The whip can’t kill by itself, but the blows sting, and it can get around some shields. The falchion is razor sharp, easily slicing through skin, cloth, and leather. The best part is that they’re extremely light, I can dodge and move around with ease. I haven’t had to fight anything armored yet, but between these two weapons I’m sure I can improvise. I have before. 

I get up from the bonfire and press some ash into my Estus flask. I dodge more infested barbarians and swamp-dwelling creatures as I approach the cave, popping purple moss in my mouth whenever I get hit with a wave of nausea, and manage to push into the cave unscathed. I stop to catch my breath, being sure not to lean against the web-covered wall, when I hear a groan from further down in the cave. I take a deep breath and continue down, falchion at the ready. After a bit in the surprisingly well-lit cave, I’m spat out in a small cavern with...good Gods. 

Hollows litter the ground, all of them on their stomachs, all of them with massive eggs on their backs. They face ahead, hands clasped and all of them groaning unintelligibly. For mercy? Or prayer? I edge closer but none pay me any attention. I don’t wait around to see if they change their minds, the poor sods. I run past. You know, for so many eggs and so much webbing, I haven’t seen any spiders. I hope Hollowing doesn’t affect spiders - if a hundred mad arachnids come running out from between the webs I might give up on this quest altogether and join that depressed fellow back at Firelink. As I jog on I spot a glow among the webs. I approach and find runes etched into the ground - like Solaire’s, but white instead of yellow. I kneel down to examine the text. “Maneater Mildred.” I touch it with my finger and leap back as the woman I killed minutes ago materializes in front of me. 

Mildred hefts her cleaver onto her shoulder and stares at me. Huh. She’s about the last person I’d expect to help, but I’ll take it for whatever comes next. I walk on into a cavern so big you could stuff a cathedral inside, Mildred following close behind me in the typical trancelike phantom state. The webs give way to cobble that’s actually warm to the touch, which strikes me as very odd. I’m examining the cavern when the sound of crunching stone coming from the other end of the cavern reaches my ears. I ready myself and Mildred responds in kind, lowering her stance and bringing up her shield. 

From around a tower at the other end of the cavern I find myself in comes a beast that makes my heart seize like nothing else on this accursed journey thus far. A spider as big as a house thunders into view, its multitude of eyes spinning madly and fire spewing from its abdomen as its gigantic legs carry it closer to us. It opens a gaping maw and emits a growl, and in response a...a young woman grafted to the top of the monster reaches down and caresses the crown of its head with her free hand, her other one holding a massive sword. She does this affectionately. With care. I don’t believe it. Nothing this twisted and grotesque should exist. For the briefest moment a pang of guilt rings in my chest as I realize that’s what Gwyn thought of humans. That pang is dispelled as the spider opens its mouth and a jet of fire rushes towards Mildred and I. Alright. I’m putting it down. 

Mildred and I split, avoiding the flame and the subsequent slash with the sword as the beast bears down upon us. I rush in and slash my falchion across its legs, cracking the tough exoskeleton and sending a spurt of blood across my chest. I yelp and leap back. The blood burns! It’s like being hit with a pot of boiling water. The spider whips around and I scramble back as lava spews from its gullet. The woman on top swings at Mildred, her sword bouncing off Mildred’s cleaver and making my ally stumble. The spider turns to face Mildred, giving me a breather to take a small swig of Estus and regroup. I sprint around the lava pool and back to the side of the spider as Mildred keeps the beast busy, hacking at its legs with such force the monster stumbles slightly with each blow. I lash my whip out. The tip doesn’t quite reach the woman on top but the crack it produces makes her flinch. I roll under the spider as legs and her sword plunge downwards, trying to turn me into a stain on the hot stone. 

A loud crunch followed by the beast shrieking in agony makes me turn to find Mildred has snapped one of its front legs in two, red-hot blood spraying everywhere. The spider lowers itself and I latch onto its remaining front leg with my whip, yanking hard to pull myself out from under the immense weight of the body descending onto me. My arm is suddenly wrenched back and I hear whistling in my ears as the world spins around me. My fingers hold tight to the whip and I try to make sense of my flight until I land painfully on a hard surface strewn with what feels like thick blades of grass. The spider must have jumped back and I went along for the ride. 

As I get to my feet, vision still a little blurred from the impact, something hard slaps my forehead. I wince and stumble back, right into a blast of heat. Damn this! I let go of my whip and chug my Estus. My vision snaps back into focus in time to see an orange fireball sail right for my head. Diving under it, my face is stung by the grass digging into my face, which suddenly and violently shifts under me and I’m almost thrown to the side, Estus flask falling from my hand as I grab for a handhold. I scramble to my feet again and I find myself face-to-face with the woman on top of the spider. Which means I’m on top of the spider. And I just rubbed my face in its back. Lovely. 

Before my mind can process how repulsive that is I have to deal with the angry pyromancer in front of me. Her beautiful face is twisted in fury as she tries to burn me to a crisp, her sword too long and at too odd an angle to get a decent swing in and she can’t properly stab down at me without risking impaling her pet monster. By the same token, I can’t get a proper foothold long enough to get in a good slash with my falchion with the spider jerking back and forth beneath me. Mildred is certainly doing her bit, though - she’s giving the spider a damn good thrashing between dodging lava and swipes from the spider’s legs. All I have to do is hold on, batting away the woman’s pyromancy hand so I don’t die, and keep some of the attention away from Mildred so she can go to work. Maybe this fight will be easier than I thought. 

Then Mildred is caught by an errant and surprising flail from the woman’s sword and goes sailing into a pool of lava, her phantom vanishing almost upon impact. 

With one annoyance dealt with the woman’s fury turns into sadistic glee. She has me. I’ll screw up sooner or later and get fried. She just has to keep me off balance, a role the spider is fulfilling with gusto. After a minute of frantic fighting, her trying to get a spell off and me clumsily slapping it away with my falchion while holding on with my other hand, she throws her sword away and raises both hands, a massive ball of flame springing up between them. She has me and she knows it. A plan races to piece itself together as the ball grows larger and hotter. As one fully forms I grimace. This is going to hurt. 

As the spider stops moving and I feel the familiar jerk, I propel myself forward. Too close to properly drive my sword through her, I instead go for a tackle, shoulder driving into her gut and arm wrapping around her midriff. Screaming in disgust and anger she blasts the ball downwards as I swing around to the front of the spider, flames blasting my arm hanging on and burning the rest of me with heat. I scramble for a foothold on the spider’s face - a task it does not appreciate - and find one in a chunk Mildred carved out for me. I ram my foot in there and, with one arm almost melted securely into place and one foot in a solid hold, slash my falchion across the pyromancer’s neck before she can get a spell off. 

The monster screams as its friend and companion’s head goes sailing across the cavern, followed shortly by its own legs giving out underneath it and starting to vanish into raw souls and Humanity, the lava around the cavern quickly cooling and hardening. I try to catch my breath as the spider fully vanishes and my burnt arm is freed. My arm is so badly burned I don’t even feel pain as I grab my whip and Estus flask, which I promptly drain as I wearily climb the stairs, one more challenge defeated on the road to the second Bell of Awakening.


	18. The Fair Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief chapter ahead, but I wanted to get this out before a longer, more involved one. Thank you for the continued support!

I wrench the lever back as hard as I can and the bell above begins to chime. Finally. Two of two bells rang. Time to head back to Firelink and find out how I get to Anor Londo. I gaze out at the hellscape before me - just standing in this room feels like a blast furnace as I look over whatever lava-strewn land lies ahead. I wipe the sweat from my brow and turn my back to it. Not now. Hopefully never. Now where’s a bonfire? 

I head down the stairs in search of a place to rest up. My burned arm is still throbbing despite drinking Estus, so I would like some more before having to cross back across the swamp. I reach the level below and find nothing but a web-covered path to the cursed land I am very determined not to venture into. I chew the inside of my cheek as I pace around, looking for a second path. Usually there’s a bonfire by now. After a few minutes I sigh. No luck. Still, I need to do something for this pain in my arm, I won’t be able to do much fighting without it in good shape. 

I pace back over to a section of wall that isn’t covered in egg sacs and turn my back to it, leaning back. And keep leaning. My vision swings over the ceiling until I smack the ground flat on my back, the wind shooting from my lungs. “Where...wall?” I wheeze, picking my head up. It’s vanished and I now find myself in an empty hallway. I get to my feet and massage my back. Great. Invisible walls. Another thing to worry about. I turn around and see one of those poor sods with egg sacs on their backs standing (or lying, rather) in between me and a bonfire in a chamber directly behind him. Oh, thank the Gods. I jog over and try to skirt past, but this one blocks me. 

“A new servant?” “What?” “Are you a new servant?” The creature asks in a high, almost aristocratic tone of voice. If that’s the case he’s certainly had a bit of a status downgrade. “Uh...sure.” Whatever gets me to the bonfire. “But you bear no eggs.” Before I can open my mouth to lie my way into the bonfire, the servant dismisses it. “Bah. No matter. Go and have an audience with the Fair Lady. Mind your manners!” I wave dismissively at the servant and push past to the bonfire. I quickly fill up my Estus and relish the feeling of my arm healing along with my innumerable other bruises and cuts. 

I stand up and stretch my back. Gods, it feels good to be back at one hundred percent. I pull out my falchion to examine it for damage when I hear a soft scratching behind me. I freeze, ears straining. After a few seconds I hear it again. I whip around, gripping my falchion as tightly as I can, and my heart almost stops when I see the monster in front of me. It’s like the beast I fought a few minutes ago, but...hurt. She’s grafted to a spider still, but twisted and deformed. Instead of the tough husk I had to contend with, it looks like soft flesh, veins barely contained beneath the skin. The spider itself looks all but dead. The woman the same. I sheath my falchion(still keeping a hand on it) and edge closer. “Uh...hello?” The woman’s eyes open. They’re a milky white. She raises her head and looks right at me, expression pained. 

“Can you hear me?” She tilts her head. “You’re no servant!” The creature guarding the entrance cries. “We all know she can’t speak! Get away from her!” “Relax. If I wanted to hurt her I would have done it by now.” I lean in a little to get a closer look. Like before, the woman is quite beautiful, despite her obvious pain. My chest starts to ache. Deaf, dumb, and blind, in constant pain. What a hellish existence. Nothing deserves that. Well, maybe Smough, but that’s besides the point. I can’t imagine what she’s done to deserve this. 

The servant begins to laboriously drag itself closer, still defiant. “Look, I’m not going anywhere, and I guarantee you can’t change that. I promise I won’t hurt her.” He slows down, face still contorted in rage. “Who is she?” “She...she is the Fair Lady!” I gathered that. What else?” The servant is growing less agitated as he realizes that I really don’t mean harm. “She is a beacon of mercy and grace. We all serve her dutifully for her sacrifice.”

“Which would be?” Gods, everyone here is so cryptic. All I want is a straight answer. The servant huffs. “That information is privileged. Only servants of the Fair Lady may know.” I can’t hide a scowl. “Fine. Is she in pain?” “Constantly. It is the burden she bears for her sister. You could learn a thing or two about devotion. Lying and bursting in like you own the place.” I cock my head to the side. “Did she tell you?” “Of course not! We can’t talk to her!” He says haughtily. “Her sister told us.” “Sister?” “Where have you been living? Under a rock? Quelaag! You must have seen her as you came in! I suppose you lied to her as well?” 

My stomach starts to sink. “That was her sister?” “And how we all get our orders. She’s the only one who can talk to the Fair Lady, so if you want to stick around you better get on her good side!” I killed her sister to get in. The only one who could talk to her. I don’t regret it - I don’t think. She attacked me first. I close my eyes for a minute to think. “How do you relieve it?” He seems caught off guard by the question. “Relieve...what?” “The pain, man! The pain!” “We...we don’t! Other servants do! Ones like you!” The sudden pressure makes him flustered and he stammers to get the words out. “They come back and give her black things. Little fires. It lets her sleep.” I plunge my hand into my pockets, searching for the Humanity. “These?” I ask when I find them. “Yes! Exactly!” 

I spin on my heel and reach for her hand. The servant starts to shout again, but I cut him off with a harsh glare. I gently take the Fair Lady’s hand and she inhales sharply. Probably different from what she’s used to. I grab a few of the Humanity sprites, floating gently in my pocket, and lay them in her hand, closing her fist around them. “I’m sorry.” I back away and head for the exit. “I’ll be back soon,” I tell the servant. It’s the least I can do for someone who’s miserable life I just made even worse. With my head held high I start the long journey back to Firelink Shrine.


	19. Kingseeker Frampt

I look out over Firelink from the sewer running past the Burg and sigh, almost content. It’s the closest thing I have to a home now. I’ve dodged most threats on the way back, but it’ll still be good to rest up and catch up with the miserable guy by the bonfire. I hope he hasn’t gone and Hollowed on me. I easily fight past the handful of Hollowed warriors and walk easily down the green hill to the bonfire. As I get closer I hear what sounds like snoring from the ruined cathedral further back. The cleric probably dozed off or something - it’s not my main concern right now. I nod to the young sorcerer I rescued in the lower Burg as I pass by. He’s reading through a scroll and barely looks up. Never been one for spells, so I won’t be looking at his wares too much. There was also that pyromancer, though. Some of those spells wouldn’t go awry if I get into a tight spot. 

“Oi! Sad sack! I’m back!” I call. I look to his usual spot and the smile drops from my face when I don’t see him there. I furrow my eyebrows and turn to fill up my Estus. Maybe he’s just...huh. That’s weird. The fire’s out. I look around again and put my hand on my falchion. “Sad sack!” I call again, urgently. “You here?” “Took your bloody time!” I follow the voice and race down the steps to where the Fire Keeper usually is. I stop dead in my tracks when I see the crestfallen man leaning against the cobble, a massive gash in his chest. Without thinking I pull out my Estus and douse it over the wound. He grabs the rest and chugs it, the wound quickly closing. “What happened?” I ask while he grimaces, slowly pushing himself to his feet. 

“Lautrec. Lautrec happened.” He eyes the hole in his chainmail. “Lautrec? What did he do?” He points to the empty cage. “He killed the Fire Keeper. I just heard her scream. I tried...tried to kill him, but he got away.” He climbs the stairs and I lean down to look at the cage. “Any idea why?” “None. And you’re welcome, by the way! First time in ages I try to help someone and I almost die as a result.” “I’m sorry about that, truly.” He climbs back up on top of his heap of rubble relaxes. “But now you get to track him down, because I am not budging from this spot.” “Don’t worry. I’ll find the bastard.” “Good.” The man meets my gaze, a fire in his eyes. “Make him pay.” I nod back away. “Oh! And go shut that damn beast up, will you?” “Pardon?” “The thing snoring away back there! It’s a racket, I haven’t gotten decent sleep in days. Smells terrible, too.” Upon returning from the brink of death, all he can do is complain. Despite how terrible this situation is I can’t help but smile. 

“I brought you back something from the swamp.” I reach into my pocket and find something I snagged on my way out. I find the hardened shell and toss it to the man. “Another rock?” “Shell, actually. From a gigantic woman melded to a spider bigger than a house.” “Lovely. A different sort of rock.” He tosses it in the dirt in front of him. Right next to the scale of the gargoyle I killed. He’s more sentimental than he lets on. I grin and walk up to the ruined cathedral, stopping along the way to see about pyromancies. 

* * *

“Good Gods!” “I told you!” Hollers the sad sack. A gigantic serpent...thing is lying on the floor of the cathedral, dozing away, massive nostrils exhaling a foul smell with each breath. I nudge it with my foot. It doesn’t wake. “How do I wake it up?” “I dunno! Smack it!” “What if it gets mad?” “Damned if I know!” I bite my tongue and grimace. Alright. I turn my falchion flat, wind up, and bring it down hard with a whap!. The serpent jerks awake and rises up. Its high is absolutely staggering. “I’m wide awake! Don’t treat me like an old, withering snake!” He shakes his head, two...things dangling from his face swinging wildly. “Ahh, hello! Was it you who rang the Bell of Awakening?” “Uhh...yes. I am. Was. Did ring.” “I am the primordial serpent, Kingseeker Frampt, close friend of the Great Lord Gwyn.” 

So he’s going to keep plugging on, is he? “Chosen Undead, who has rung the Bell of Awakening, I wish to elucidate your fate. Do you seek such enlightenment?” He has almost certainly practiced this. Wait a minute - friend of Gwyn? I make sure my face cover is in place, I don’t need him recognizing me and crushing me with his gigantic head. “Well?” “Sorry, what was the question?” “Do you seek enlightenment?” He says again, a little annoyed. “Yes.” 

“ Very well. Then I am pleased to share. Chosen Undead. Your fate is… to succeed the Great Lord Gwyn. So that you may link the Fire, cast away the Dark, and undo the curse of the Undead. To this end, you must visit Anor Londo, and acquire the Lordvessel.” “Succeed Gwyn?” “Yes. A seemingly impossible task, I understand, but a necessary one.” Oh, joy. A chance to succeed a power-hungry maniac. “ Those who seek the Realm of the Lords must brave Sen's Fortress, a deadly house of traps bordering the Undead Chapel. Many have gone before you, but none have returned. Fate has chosen you, but proceed with caution.” “And after that?” 

“You will be transported to Anor Londo and must face two of the greatest warriors the kingdom has ever seen: Dragonslayer Ornstein and Executioner Smough.” “They’re fighting together?” That gives Frampt pause. “Yes. They are. Did you study Anor Londo before the curse? Not many know of Smough outside the castle.” “Yes. I did. I was a...cleric of the Way of White.” “Where is your attire?” “Lost it. But I get the plan. Go to Anor Londo, get the Lordvessel, return. In and out.” “Yes. ‘In and out.’” With every word that comes out of my mouth Frampt’s previous thunderous confidence dwindles. I should get out of here before he finds out who I am - and how much Gwyn hated me. “I’m off to Sen’s Fortress, then. I’ll be back before you know it.” Before Frampt can ask any more questions I’ve turned on my heel and set off for the Fortress. 

* * *

I admire my newly sharpened falchion and improved whip as I cross the bridge to the fortress. Andre really can work wonders. The blade’s sharper than ever and the whip’s leather has been tightened and improved. I feel ready. I step confidently up to the great gate before the fortress, now open, and take a deep breath. I’m coming, Ornstein. I stride forward and the stone beneath my foot sinks. I look down and hear a hiss as something zips past my ear. I drop to the floor and more projectiles pass overhead. Once I’m sure it’s done I get to my feet cautiously, inching forward, praying I don’t hit another trap. Turns out, it wasn’t the traps I needed to worry about. It was the half-snake half-person swordsmen who flew out of the shadows and quickly gave me a fight for my life. Maybe this place won’t be as easy as I hoped.


	20. Intermission

Quick poll to see what you guys think - not a full chapter!   
Recently I've been considering starting another WIP to work on Friday through Sunday, while keeping this one going Monday through Thursday. It wouldn't start immediately as I still have to flesh out the story, but I wanted to see if you would prefer I focus on one work at a time or try and split it up.   
My ideas right now for another work are as follows: 

1\. Venom: Would take place almost in an alt universe with only a few characters from the Marvel universe. About a new batch of characters fighting with and against a new breed of symbiote. First person perspective and would likely be a longer work as I'm not constrained to a linear story. 

2\. Fallout: New Vegas. A mercenary sent after the Courier is captured by them and is forced to accompany them as they travel through the wasteland. Will start just after the Courier enters New Vegas. 

The only two concrete ideas I have at the moment, if I come up with more later I'll be sure to add them. Let me know what y'all think!


	21. Sen's Fortress

The razor-sharp edge of the pendulum catches the edge of my arm as I try and dodge a bolt of lightning. I spin to the side and my foot finds empty air. Panic seizes my body as I teeter dangerously on the edge of an extremely narrow platform above a muddy floor dozens of feet below me. The pendulums slice inches from my flesh on either side of me and I keep an eye on the serpent mage a few feet in front of me winding up another bolt of lightning to chuck at me. Without thinking I snap my whip to the side and manage to wrap it around the thin pole the pendulum is swinging on. I let myself fall, narrowly avoiding the streak of pure electricity, and hold tight to the whip as I’m swung out and then back, my waist colliding hard with the stone platform. I let go of the whip and use both hands to quickly scrabble onto the stone, diving beneath the next bolt and slashing at the serpent’s leg. 

It hisses in pain and anger and stabs downwards with three odd swords. I roll between its legs and over another stone pressure plate. Instinctively I keep low and back away from the best as the mechanism is activated and three spikes shoot from a hidden panel in the wall above a chest, impaling the serpent. An unholy sounds tears from its vocal cords and it backpedals, flailing wildly, before losing its footing on the narrow stone walkway and plummeting to the muck far below. 

I rest on the cool stone for a moment, not entirely sure how I made it this far. This place has been horrible - traps at every turn, relentless serpent-people dogging me, and I’ve barely gone a quarter of a mile from the bonfire. I push myself to my feet and over to the pendulum still with my whip wrapped around it. After a few minutes and more than a couple close calls I manage to get it off and back over to (relative) safety. I open the chest, snagging two large Titanite shards, and keep pushing on. 

I come into a room containing a four-way walkway and a sleeping serpent soldier leaning against the wall. They’ve given me enough trouble this far, I’m not about to push my luck by fighting another one. I start to sneak by when a gigantic shape momentarily blots out the doorway on the opposite end of the room, accompanied by a rumbling that shakes the room. Doesn’t bother the sleeping serpent, though. I slip across the room and get close to the door in time to see a gigantic ball of stone shoot past the door and down the steps. I lean my head out of the door and examine the path. In a few seconds, another ball drops down and rolls down the steps. One serpent mage is standing at the top, safely. I look down the other way. There’s a small path off to the side. Maybe I can find a way around. 

I wait for the next ball to roll by and I sprint down the steps as fast as I can, rolling off to the side before the stone ball can flatten me. I get to my feet and turn around. No path, no ladder, no steps, but there is a familiar knight in white, oddly shaped armor. “Siegmeyer!” The knight jerks a little and looks up from the cliff he’s sitting on. “Lucky! My friend, how good it is to see you!” He gets to his feet and walks over, warmly shaking my hand. “What on Earth brings you to this godforsaken little fortress?” “I could ask you the same thing.” “Adventure, my dear friend. The gate had finally opened up, and I was able to press into this infernal fortress. That is, until I ran flat into a wall...or rather, a ball. I’m far too plump to be outrunning these things, so here I wait. They have to run out sooner or later, right?” 

“Maybe, but I really doubt this place is short on giant stone balls.” “Maybe I could try rolling…? Bah, no. My head would spin.” I walk back over to the ledge with the knight and sit next to him. “What have you been up to since we last had a little chat?” He asks. “Quite a lot, actually. I rang the Bells of Awakening, met a giant spider sewn onto a woman, and found out some more about my past.” “Jolly good!” Siegmeyer exclaims. “I even managed to pick up some of my old gear.” I show off my falchion and whip to the onion knight, who takes them and examines them closely. “Still not one for heavier weapons, eh?” “Can’t say I am, although I’m getting along much better with these than the knife I had.” “That thing was scarcely larger than a splinter.” I laugh along with the knight. “Gods, what I wouldn’t have given for you and that gigantic sword of yours at my side for a few of these fights I’ve been through.” Siegmeyer bows his head. “I am honored by your praise, my friend.” 

I wave my hand dismissively. “You’ve pushed this far by yourself. I’ve had a lot of help along the way.” “Help doesn’t degrade your achievements, good knight. All it means is that you have companions to bask in the glory alongside you - and really, what good is a pint of ale if you don’t have a friend by your side?” “Good point. Very good point.” I pat the knight’s back and reach into my pocket. “You haven’t been to the swamp yet, have you?” “Gods, no. I’m putting that little venture off for as long as possible.” “In that case, take some of these.” I pull out a few scraps of purple purple moss. I’ve got a couple in reserve to be safe, but I’ve got more than I need from the moss vendor in the sewers. 

“I can’t take this,” Siegmeyer says, almost shocked. “Why not?” “I haven’t earned it.” “Sure you have! You’ve been my friend. Please, take it.” “But-” “You’ll be offending me if you don’t take it.” He’s caught and he knows it. I grin under my mask. After a few seconds, he reaches out and takes it. “Thank you.” “No problem.” I get to my feet and stretch my legs. “It was good seeing you, Siegmeyer.” Another concrete ball rolls past. “I’ll be back when I’ve managed to stop those things.” “Please, don’t get killed on my account!” “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Once those boulders stop rolling, get up the steps as quickly as possible, just in case.” “Don’t worry about me, dear friend! I’ll be fine.” “Wouldn’t doubt it, a fighter of your caliber.” I touch two fingers to my forehead in a miniature salute and turn to the steps. The boulder rolls past and I launch myself up the steps, legs pounding against the stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new work, "The Captured Hunter," now has its first chapter up and I will be working with it alongside this story! I'm really excited for both that story and what we'll be getting into with this one soon enough. Thank you for your continued support and if you decide to check out the other one then I hope you enjoy that one as well!


	22. Out On The Roof

I dodge another volley of arrows from a wall-mounted trap and continue to sprint across the incredibly narrow stone walkway. I’ve managed to redirect the boulders, stumble across a sorcerer with a hat almost four feet across, and almost die several times to more of those serpent warriors. Whoever built this fortress is a sadistic, sadistic person. I turn a corner and sprint down a narrow hall, ducking spells, and quickly take out a serpent mage before it can get its swords out. Spinning around I run back to the hallway entrance and up a set of stairs where I see daylight streaming in from the top. 

I fly out into the open air, falchion poised to meet attackers, and breathe a sigh of relief when none make themselves apparent. A rest. At least, it is until a gigantic explosion shakes the stone beneath my feet. I whip around, trying in vain to find the source of the explosion, until the sun is blotted out from the sky. I only get a good look at the thing for a fraction of a second before my exhausted legs manage to find one more pool of energy and I take off, heading up more steps and tripping when the massive firebomb crashes behind me and rocks the earth. I pick myself up and continue my charge to anywhere that doesn’t have death by hellfire. 

Another bomb lands near me and I almost lose my footing. I get up another flight of steps and hang a right - only to run smack into a dead end! The walkway ends, save for a hole in the wall that’ll send me straight off the fortress. I curse and turn around, but it’s too late. The bomb explodes and sends me flying backward, burning my front and peppering me with shrapnel. My shoulder strikes the wall and I spin into the busted section of the stone barrier. My heart leaps into my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the splat. 

The wind is knocked from my body and something cracks in my arm, outstretched beneath my body. The fall took less time than I would have thought. I open my eyes to see the sky above me, smoke rising from the fortress where the bomb just went off. Hang on - I can see the hole in the wall, barely ten feet above me. I sit up and look around. I’m...still on the fortress, on a section of platform jutting out from the wall. Right next to a bonfire! I quickly reach over and spark it. The bones in my arm knit back together and I quickly push more ashes into my Estus flask. Still shocked that I’m alive, much less back in peak condition, I roll onto my back and close my eyes, thanking what few lucky stars I have left for dodging yet another close call. 

I don’t know how I’ve survived this long. I really don’t. I’ve been stabbed, crushed, burned, beaten, bled out, poisoned, and so much more. But I’ve crawled to here. I’ve survived. I inhale deeply, savoring the sweet forest air. Gods, I’m tired. I haven’t had a rest since Blighttown. Opening my eyes suddenly seems like a nigh-impossible task. If the rest of Sen’s fortress is anything like what I’ve slogged through, then I’m going to need my strength. I’m sorry, Ornstein, but you’ll have to hold on just a little while longer. Before I know it, I’m dead asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter to prove I'm still alive - college and other stuff has been drowning me recently, but I promise I'll keep writing, we're real close to the good part now!


	23. Breakout

My legs dangle behind me as I’m dragged through the mud of the Carim raider camp, blood dripping down my back from the whipping I’ve just sustained. The pain is unbearable. The skin on my back has been turned to a mesh of torn, bloody skin. The raider responsible is currently winding his whip back up, an evil smile plain on his face while he watches me being carried away. The raiders throw me into the overcrowded cell for me and my comrades and slam the door behind me.

“Take a long, hard look at the liar before you,” one of the raiders growls. My eyes are screwed up in pain, fists clenched as I try not to crack in front of either my fellow soldiers or the raider. “If any of you try anything funny, you’re going to wind up like him.” He spits on the ground and starts to back away. “I’m gonna enjoy working this lot to death,” he mutters to his companion as they walk away. And why wouldn’t they? No one’s coming to rescue us, the King made that clear. We’re unarmed, malnourished prisoners, what’re we going to do? The only thing we have going for us is numbers, but...hang on. 

It might just be the delusions brought on by blood loss and sheer pain, but an idea’s sprung to mind. I finally open my eyes and count the number of people in the cave we’re crammed into, ignoring their mixed looks of admiration, pity, and hostility. They’ve fit twenty-five of us in here. A standard platoon. Outside, there are a little more than a dozen raiders. If we can get the jump on them then maybe, just maybe, we can get out of here. The plan needs work, but it’s a starting point, at least. 

I lie still for a few hours as night falls, allowing the pain to somewhat subside and work on our escape. That is, if these soldiers will even follow me. I’ve gotten them captured, starved, beaten, and now I’ve signed off on their death warrant. 

The sun peeks over the trees of the surrounding forest and I watch the camp, taking note of activity as a small party of raiders returns with coin purses, jewelry, and food supplies from the surrounding area. The wooden wall around the perimeter is still unfinished, so they’ll probably make us work on that. That means saws to cut and shape trees, tools, and bored guards. A hammer can crush a skull as well as a club, and a saw can cut just as well as a sword. 

I push myself up to my elbows and drag myself over to a soldier next to me, nudging him awake. He cracks his eye open and looks down at me. 

“I have a plan.” 

“Is it better than your last one?” 

“Probably not, but it’s better than being worked to death.” 

The soldier smiles grimly. “Fair enough. What’s your plan?” 

“We launch a surprise attack while working today. They won’t be expecting us to attack with tools and while this tired. After we kill the first couple we can take their weapons and try to fight our way out.” 

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“Then we die, same as if we didn’t try anything at all. I say it’s worth a shot. I’ll even take the first swing.” The soldier raises his eyebrow and sits up a little. 

“You? You’re gonna be fighting? You just got whipped half to death.” 

“I’ve never felt better.” I put my hands under my chest and push myself to my knees. My heart rate jumps as my back screams out in pain, but I ignore it as I use the wall for support and get myself to my feet. “See? Right as rain.” 

The soldier chuckles a little. “Fine. I’m in, if only because I can’t let you get killed by yourself, and it’s a better death than being used as slave labor. I’ll send word down the line.” 

“I’ll do the same. Tell them to start fighting as soon as I swing.” The soldier leans over and wakes up the man next to him, passing the plan down the line. As the fighters hear it their heads pop up and they look at me, then start talking amongst themselves. Captain Baker, in the back, looks like he heartily disapproves. 

After a little while the conversation dies down. I look behind me to check on the camp and see one of the raiders coming over to unlock us. Damn it, I wanted more time! 

“What say all of you? Are you in?” No response. They shift uncomfortably in the silence of the cave. “Come on! I need an answer!” 

“I’m in.” The soldier I told the plan to originally gets to his feet, followed closely by another further down into the cave. The door creaks open behind me and the raider grabs me by the back of my neck and drags me out. 

“Eager to work, eh?” The raider cackles “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you do.” I slow my pace, allowing the others to walk past me. As they do, quick responses are whispered to me. 

“Let’s do it.” 

“Damn it, you better not get me killed.” 

“I’m gonna give these bastards some payback, count on it.”

Overwhelmingly, they’re for it. The only one against it is Captain Baker, who just glares at me, but I couldn’t care less how he feels about it. He hasn’t done anything to help since we were first surrounded. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold us out to the raiders for some extra stale bread. 

We file up to the raiders who give us saws, crude hammers, and some other tools to help with their walls. The one who hands me a hammer and studs sneers when he sees me up and about. “Seems Lautrec should have whipped you a bit harder, eh? Don’t worry. We’ll break you yet.” Not likely. I take my tools and march to where they tell me. I watch as the other soldiers go to their locations and begin to work, all keeping their eyes on me. 

We work, sustaining the occasional slap or strike with the flat of a weapon for sloppy work, until the guards sit down for their meals at noon with only a skeleton crew watching us. It’s now or never. 

I wait until the guards are all fully embroiled in talk and eating in the center of the camp to walk over to the bored Carim raider watching our group of prisoners. The other groups sawing wood and digging holes slow down significantly, watching me. “Hey, guard? Bathroom?” 

He turns to look towards me. “No. Go back-” 

The stud slams into his eye and is quickly driven home by the strike from the hammer before the guard can get his weapon out. He slumps to the side, blood pooling on the ground below. Silence falls over the camp. The raiders can’t believe it. My fellow soldiers can’t either. Seconds pass as the raiders stare, slack-jawed and shocked. Then I hear the hiss of steel against leather. 

“KILL ‘EM!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working! I'm so close to Ornstein, I can't wait! Thank y'all for reading!"


	24. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final memory regarding the Carim raiders

I scoop up the raider’s weapon - a whip. I toss it into my left hand and crack it in the air. My fingers curl around my hammer and energy floods through my weary bones. If we’re dying here, we’re going down swinging. With a defiant roar I charge the raider nearest to me as he makes a break for one of the other prisoners who’s isolated. He raises his falchion to strike down the helpless prisoner and I flail my whip in desperation. The frayed leather tip cracks and grazes the raider’s hand, making him flinch and reflexively open his palm at the sudden sting. My comrade seizes the opportunity, catching the falchion and running the raider through with it. 

He nods his thanks to me and breaks off to assist in fighting elsewhere. Clusters of my fellow soldiers are gathered around the suddenly-diminished raiders, harassing them as best they can with unfamiliar weapons and tools. I see a few of my brethren lying in the dirt, and immediately shove them from my mind. There’ll be time after to bury them. I look around, trying to see where I’m most needed. The situation is precarious everywhere, but when I see Lautrec’s face my heart skips a beat and I set off in his direction. 

My feet pound against the dirt as I dodge hasty swipes at me by the already-engaged raiders, powered by raw hatred at the man who whipped me raw. As I approach I bark a single order: 

“Move!” 

The soldiers hear it and see me coming and split accordingly, leaving me a couple of feet to charge through and leap, hammer raised high. Lautrec catches me out of the corner of his eye and slashes his falchion, on a crash course to my throat. 

In a flash, his arm (and the falchion) are gone in a red haze. Lautrec barely has time for the pain to register before my hammer caves his skull in and he drops to his knees, eyes glazed and unfocused. Dead. I stare at him for a moment, despite the chaos. At the bastard responsible for the deaths of my friends, now an empty shell. I leave the hammer lodged in his skull and bend down to pick up his own weapon when a body throws its weight onto my back, knocking me to the ground. 

“Stay down!” A voice roars in my ear. Before I can ask why, a wolf the size of a small house leaps over us and tramples a raider attempting to run from the camp before seizing another in its jaws. 

“Where the Hell did that come from?!” I shout as I get to my feet, grabbing Lautrec’s falchion. 

“It’s the cavalry!” The soldier replies, laughing. “We’re saved!” He points to a male figure besides the wolf, clad in heavy steel armor, an azure plume flowing from its helm and a raider at the end of his sword. It’s Artorias. Gwyn’s very own knight is here to aid us! The way he fights - it’s almost hypnotizing as he performs a dance of death. Spinning, leaping, flipping the same way a dancer would in a stunning display of power and finesse. 

And as soon as it started, the fighting ends. The raiders all lie dead in the camp, alongside a good deal of our own men, who are already being cared for by the able. But we did it. We killed them. 

The knight and his wolf slowly walk to the center of the camp, looking around and taking stock of the aftermath of the short but bloody battle. His face is obscured by his helm, so I have no idea what he’s thinking. When he reaches the center of camp he stops and plants his sword into the ground, looking at each one of us carefully as we slowly gather around him. 

“WHO’S IN CHARGE HERE?” Artorias booms, his voice echoing through the forest. Ice creeps through my veins. He does not sound pleased. After a few seconds of silence I step forward and kneel, keeping my eyes downcast. 

“I am, sir.” 

“Get up!” I do as the knight commands and cautiously turn my gaze upwards to look him head-on. When he doesn’t object I continue to do so. After a moment the knight snorts. “You’re the officer in charge here?” 

I glance at Captain Baker, whose clothes are suspiciously clean and un-bloodied. He’s deep in the crowd and obviously has no wish to step forward. Fine, then. 

“Yes, sir. I am Captain Baker.” I’m not sure how well Artorias knows our unit, but I don’t want to give myself away on accident. I catch Artorias mumble something about me barely looking of age to fight, then takes a deep breath. 

“Get your men organized and set up triage, I have clerics and supplies on the way. You and I have much to discuss.” I nod and turn to the men suddenly under my command. 

“Take stock of the wounded. Move those needing care immediately near the center of camp, and those with wounds less severe close to the cave where we were held. Leave the dead where they are for now. Does everyone understand?” My men nod and move to work. Artorias places a hand on my shoulder and pulls me towards the entrance of the camp, away from the others. I see a small caravan of clerics and wagons laden with food and water move in shortly behind us, giving the massive wolf a wide berth as it leaps the tall wooden wall to rejoin its master. 

My mouth is dry as I walk with the knight, silent until we’re deeper into the forest. I have no idea why he’s here. The King of Astora told us that no help would be coming, that’s the entire reason I started the breakout. My heart is thumping as the knight stops and his wolf sits behind him, both terrifying in their own way. Confident that we’re alone, Artorias finally speaks. 

“You’re not the commander of this unit.”

I swallow hard. Impersonating an officer is a capital offense, punishable by hanging. I stay quiet as Artorias continues. 

“The commander is supposed to be Captain Baker. I met the man once when I was giving instruction to a group of infantry officers. He’s a taller man than you, with a long mustache and unpleasant attitude. I know for a fact I saw him in that group of soldiers, but when I asked, you stepped out and he stayed firmly in place.” Artorias lets his words settle before speaking again. “What’s your name?”

“L-Lucky, sir.” 

“How old are you, Lucky?” 

“Twenty, sir.” Artorias scoffs and my eyebrows pull together in anger, despite my personal terror. “It’s true, sir. I know I look young, but I know how old I am.” 

“Alright, settle down. Twenty. Fine. The fact is, you got men killed in a breakout hours before I was going to attack when you were in the cave and out of harm’s way. A breakout you organized and led, if my observations were correct?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’m going to give you one chance to explain why you did so. Why you felt it was necessary to get good soldiers killed.” His voice is colder than ice. This is a court-martial.

Artorias nods, which I take as a signal to begin my explanation. I do so, from the beginning. The unwinnable ambush where Baker wanted us to stand and fight. Choosing soldiers to deliver news of our capture to the King, and our being enslaved until the ransom was paid. My deception upon the king’s word that no aid was coming, and my subsequent whipping when it was discovered. Finally, I tell the knight about organizing the breakout, up until when he came crashing through and finished the battle for us. Artorias takes this all in silently and stoically, only speaking when he’s sure I’ve finished. 

“The others in there will vouch for you?” 

“All of them. They’ve been with me this entire time.”

“Your king is a damn fool.” I blink at Artorias’ words. It isn’t like knights to berate those of royal blood. “He was supposed to make a play for time, not enrage the entire camp. After I’m done here I’m going to give him a damn good thrashing.” Artorias relaxes his stance and sighs. “I know about the letter. Read it myself when he sent a copy to Gwyn.” 

“He did?” 

“Astora reports all raiding incidents to Anor Londo so Gwyn knows what’s going on in his kingdom. Needless to say, he was less than thrilled by his report. I left as soon as I could and grabbed the clerics and supplies from the city, I figured you lot would need them. I just needed to know the rest of what happened to see how I should progress. And how I should handle you.” 

“Sir, I didn’t mean to get those soldiers killed. I didn’t know help was coming, and if I had-” 

“Relax, kid. You didn’t do anything wrong. The opposite of that, actually.” The ice is gone from his words. He sounds warmer. Almost conversational. “You stepped up when leadership was needed to save lives. You made and executed a plan to get your soldiers out of a bad situation. It didn’t go ideally, but plans rarely do. Given your age and lack of experience, I’d say you performed far above and beyond what was expected of you. I’m putting you in for a promotion to captain immediately.” 

Artorias takes off his helmet to reveal sleek black hair, combed back and away from a thin and slightly pale face. A neatly-trimmed beard helps frame his very well put-together features, including warm, piercing blue eyes. He places his helmet under his arm and smiles a little. 

“I daresay you’ll be the youngest captain Astora’s seen yet. Certainly better than most, if this has been any indication.”

I finally manage to get my mouth working and stammer a reply. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. That’s incredible. I’ll do my best, I swear, I won’t squander this.” 

“No. I don’t imagine you will. Now, come along. You should get those wounds looked at, and I have a feeling you’d like to see the look on Baker’s face when I relieve him of his post.” 

“I’d like that very much, sir.” Artorias grins and puts his helmet back on. 

“Stay this course, Captain Lucky. It will be very interesting to see how your career unfolds.” We walk out of the forest and I have an unbelievable spring in my step as my future stretches out before me, dangerous but full of possibility. I’ve been handed a golden opportunity, and there’s no way I’m wasting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support! I always read and appreciate the comments a ton, it definitely helps keep me writing!


	25. Escaping the Fortress

I jerk awake next to the bonfire. It takes me a minute or so to remember where I am and what’s going on. I feel rested, but out of it mentally. I must have been out for a while. As is customary, the sun hasn’t budged from its place in the sky. I get to my feet, drop to a staircase, and head back out onto the top of the fortress. So. That’s how I wound up in front of Gwyn and his knights. I’m not sure if Lautrec recognized me when I first rescued him, but when I find him, I’ll make sure he does. That is, if I can even find the bastard. I have no idea where he took off to after killing the Firekeeper. Maybe I’ll find a clue at Anor Londo. 

Feeling refreshed, I sprint around and up the steps of the fortress, braced for the first shockwave from the huge bombs the giant’s sure to start hurling at me. It hits a good twenty feet behind me and I manage to pick up the pace even more. The bombs hit close by, enough to keep me motivated, but not so close that they hurt. After climbing even more stairs, I almost run right into a hulking figure encased in iron armor - just like the one back in the Undead Parish. He raises his shield and blocks the way forward, which inspires panic for a moment before I realize the bombs have stopped falling. 

The warrior takes a step forward and hefts his mace onto his shoulder. On my left is a wall, on my right is a small parapet lined with iron spikes to keep people from falling over. The massive shield the warrior is carrying takes up most of the way forward. I quickly throw together a plan and rush the knight before he can bring that mace off his shoulder. I leap onto the precious inches between the wall and the iron spikes and propel myself further upwards, slamming into his shield and dropping to the ground. The surprised knight didn’t brace his arm properly, and the top of his enormous shield smacks him in the face. He staggers back a few steps, and I use his confusion to slip between his shield and the wall before ducking between his legs, much like how I defeated the knight at the Parish. But instead of killing this one, I simply get back into a sprint and hang a left. No sense in wasting energy and risking life and limb when I don’t have to. I clamber down a ladder and continue my sprint along the narrow stone walkways, heading up a set of stairs, turning a corner and promptly taking an arrow to the chest. 

The force of the arrow knocks me back down the stairs. A burst of energy encourages me to scramble back behind a wall for cover as I start to cough up blood. A lung’s hit for sure. I listen intensely for a minute but hear no footsteps down to where I am. The archer’s staying away. 

Using a method taught to me by a cleric in the Astoran army, I grit my teeth and push the arrow clean through my chest. The pain is almost unbearable as the sharp tip slices through the other side of my lung, between my ribs, and out my back. I’ve been dragged through hell and back with my punishment so far, but this is absolute torture. I snap the feathered part of the arrow off and easily pull the smooth shaft out my back before taking a long gulp of Estus, taking a deep breath with my healed lung. I pick myself up and walk back up to the corner, quickly taking a peek before ducking my head back behind cover. 

There’s an armored knight at the top of the stairs with a bow in his hands and rapier at his hip. Given how narrow the stairs are, there’s no way I can try to dodge the arrows as I go up. Time to improvise. 

I reach into my pockets and pull out a few throwing knives I’ve bought and collected along my travels. I have a handful of firebombs as well, but I’d rather save those in case something worse comes up. 

I grip one of the throwing knives between my fingers and step into the open, flinging it at the knight, who raises his bow as soon as I’m visible. The knife slices his finger and he flinches, the shot going wide. The knight reaches into his quiver but I’m already halfway up the steps, sending another throwing knife that bounces off his helmet. The knight quickly throws his bow aside and draws his rapier and a buckler on his back, clumsily dodging out of the way of my falchion. He lunges with his rapier, which he’s deceptively fast with, the tip scraping my ribs as I leap to the side. 

I slice my falchion overhand, the knight raising his buckler to block. I lash my whip under his shield and manage to wrap it around his arm, yanking him forward and into my boot. The knight’s legs shoot out from under him and he goes down hard, my falchion slicing through his armor and into his chest as soon as he hits the brickwork. With a wet gurgle, the knight goes limp. 

I take my sword out and examine his rapier. The golden design on the hilt is extraordinary. Jewels line the crossguard and a family crest is stamped into the pommel. By the Gods, it’s the crest of Prince Ricard! He wandered away from Astora when I was a child, it was all anyone could talk about for months. What the devil is he doing up here? 

I grab the scabbard from the prince’s undead corpse and sheath the blade, securing it to my waist. I’m not going to let a weapon as fine as this lie in ruin up here. 

As I start back along the path, working my way up the fortress and battling the odd knight with relative ease (the precariousness of the footing up here makes it trivial to pull enemies to their death with my whip), a thought crosses my mind that somewhat reinvigorates me. I just made it further than a trained warrior did. Prince Ricard had access to the best equipment, training, and resources Astora had to offer, and even he fell in Sen’s fortress. I’ve managed to claw my way from the Undead Asylum to the top of the fortress, and I have no intention of slowing down now. I’m so unbelievably close to Anor Londo and Ornstein. Close to the only thing that’s kept me sane for this long. I can do this. 

I ride a cage up to the very top of the fortress and walk across a stone walkway in the open air, no railings keeping me in. The sun shines over the fortress and beyond, and from here I can see all the challenges I’ve pushed through thus far. I keep moving until I reach the next room and find white runes engraved into the ground - “Iron Tarkus.” White means friendly. I bend down and place my hand upon the words, whereupon a mass of black iron rises from the ground, bigger than most of the knights I’ve seen up until now. The knights hefts a gigantic sword onto his shoulder and looks at me expectantly. 

“Yeah. You’ll do.” 

I stand and very quickly find a long, broad walkway that leads directly to a kneeling golem clad in armor. Good Gods above. Of course something like that would be the last challenge. I chew my lip. Between Tarkus and I, it’ll still be a challenge. I should gear up. I kneel down and grab a few black firebombs in case I spot an opening in the armor, it might help. If the golem even has one. While I look for a patch of skin I can actually attack, Tarkus...hang on, where’d he go? 

The knight’s gone from his spot at my side. I look up and see him sprinting down the walkway at the golem, sword and shield at the ready. The golem is rising from its spot and my breath catches in my throat. What is that maniac doing?! 

I snatch my weapons and set off after the knight. I have no idea how I can even help, I doubt my falchion can pierce its armor. The golem raises an ax high to crush Tarkus, who’s spinning to attack with his sword. This is going to be a massacre, I don’t know how Tarkus can- 

The golem hits the ground. The impact is so rough I’m afraid it’ll collapse the brickwork at first. Tarkus slashes at the golem again and the sword hits with such force the golem scrapes against the ground as it’s forced back. Before I even reach the pair, Tarkus slings his shield onto the ground and is climbing onto the golem, walking along its chest as the golem struggles to pick its massive frame up. Tarkus reaches the pit in the middle of the golem’s chest and raises his sword up high, defiant in the face of the overwhelming might of the golem and its fortress. In the blink of an eye he plunges it down, cracking the armor and releasing a massive flash of light as whatever was powering the armor is released. The now-empty husk lets out a final groan before its power is gone. 

The husk slowly fades, and Tarkus along with it. If only I had him at my side throughout all of this, it would have been a cakewalk. I pick up the black Humanity sprite that falls from the golem and look around for a way off this platform, my eyes eventually falling on a small, glowing circle in the middle of it. I walk over to it. As soon as I get close I hear the beating of wings. I spin around, arm reaching for my falchion, but I’m not fast enough. I’m scooped up by two flying abominations and hauled into the sky. 

I decide that struggling will only lead to a very messy death, so I hang tight, heart in my throat, as I’m carried high into the air, over a mountain and...into view of Anor Londo. 

My terror melts away as the golden palace gets closer and closer, and is replaced by hope. I did it. I made it to the palace of the Gods. My old home. The rings on my fingers grow warm as I’m dropped off on the ornate brickwork. I’ve pushed through poison swamps, nearly been crushed in the Undead Burg, run through by black knights, had my organs forcibly removed from my body, and got ground into the dirt more times than I can count. But I’m here now, back at the safety of my home. All that’s left to do is walk up the steps to the front doors and I’ll be back with Ornstein again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! The meeting is just a couple short chapters away, thank you all for your continued support! I read all the comments and they really keep me going.


	26. Anor Londo

I walk down the familiar stone steps of my home, relishing the sight. The golden sun is hanging high above the magnificent palace, the brickwork excellent and sturdy with no fear of it breaking away beneath me or a decaying monstrosity dragging me into poison muck. I’m safe here, I know that much. After that hellhole of a fortress, surely these trials must end for a short while. That primordial serpent, Frampt, said I was going to succeed Lord Gwyn. He also said that Ornstein and Smough were here, at the castle. I’m much more focused on the second fact than the first. Although - that’s funny, Frampt told me I would have to return back to firelink with something called a “Lordvessel” before I could succeed Gwyn and link the fire. 

It seems to me like the good Lord Gwyn isn’t at his post in Anor Londo. Otherwise, why would I have to return, and not just link the fire at Anor Londo? However one does that, anyway. Frampt really didn’t explain much. I should have asked more questions - once I heard Ornstein was still alive I stopped paying attention to the rest of it. 

I walk past one of the decorative bronze sentinels Gwyn keeps all around Anor Londo and out onto a courtyard. I hang a left and walk down a flight of stairs, coming across a large room with a bonfire and a person in brass armor leaning against the wall. Peculiar brass armor as well - it looks like a modified version that the Blades of the Darkmoon would wear when Gwyndolin dispatched them on missions. I never really got along with Gwyn’s son, although for reasons I could never quite figure out he was raised as a daughter. Gwyndolin liked humans more than his father, and the snakes he had for legs didn’t exactly bother me, but he was still more aloof than Ornstein, Artorias, or Ciaran, who I found to be the best company the castle had to offer. 

I approach the person, hand on my blade and eying their armor. It’s sturdier than the standard issue, although it looks heavier. The Gods know I wouldn’t want to be stuck in that thing. 

“Excuse me?” They turn to face me. They don’t tense up or appear about to attack. I wave a little, hopefully conveying my peaceful intentions. 

“Well, you are a rare visitor. Welcome to the lost city of Anor Londo, chosen Undead. If you seek Lord Gwyn's old keep, exit here and head straight yonder. If you are the chosen one, a revelation shall visit thee...what follows thereafter, depends upon you.” I release the hand that was on my falchion. She means no harm. “If you require rest, now is the time. That is, after all, what the bonfire is for.” 

I bow my head in thanks and kneel down, pouring the ash into my Estus flask. I stand up and face the woman. 

“I assume you’re the Fire Keeper?” She nods. “What did you mean by ‘Lord Gwyn’s old keep’? He’s not here anymore?” 

“No.” 

“Where has he gone?” 

“You will find the answer to your question in Lord Gwyn’s keep.” I scowl, although it’s obscured by my mask. “I cannot divulge any more information to one who has not overcome the next trial. You will soon understand.” 

“Fine. I’ll just talk to Ornstein and be back soon.” The Fire Keeper scoffs, but I don’t even bother asking her why. I’m within grasping distance of my goal so far, I don’t want to waste any more time. I start to walk to the exit when it suddenly occurs to me that she may have seen Lautrec if the slimy bastard came through here. She might give me the cold shoulder, but it’s worth a shot. 

“One more question and I’ll be out of your way, and I promise. It’s not related to Gwyn or his family. May I ask?” A nod is my response. “By any chance, have you seen a knight dressed in golden armor? Helm shaped-” 

“-Into a crown, two shotels as his weapons?” The Fire Keeper sighs. “An agent of the goddess Fina, along with three fighters at his side. Yes, I remember them well. They attempted to kill me and rob me of my soul. Three of the four escaped, towards the castle. The other I fed to the batwing demons that took you here. What is your business with the knight?” 

“He killed the Fire Keeper at Firelink Shrine. Almost killed a friend of mine trying to save her. When I was human, he kept me prisoner, starved me, and whipped me.” 

“It sounds like you have a grudge.” 

“I want his god damned head on a platter if it’s the last thing I do.” The Fire Keeper laughs without humor. 

“In that case, be prepared for a fight.” She waves her hand and I head up the stairs and into the open courtyard. Lautrec is in my domain now. The silver knights will let me right through if they haven’t already killed him. 

I head to the moving stone platform and take it down to the walkway. My heart’s almost in my throat - due to a swirling vortex of emotions. Hatred and some fear of Lautrec. Resigned exhaustion at having to see Smough. Sheer joy at reuniting with Ornstein...what the devil is that? 

Squatting at the end of the walkway is a gargoyle not dissimilar to the pair I had to fight on top of the Undead Parish, but this one’s alone, and behind it the walkway is...not there. Before I have time to wonder where the Hell it came from and how the Hell it got here, the beast roars and flaps its wings, shooting down the walkway. My whip uncoils and I roll to the side, narrowly dodging its tail-ax and taking a small bit of its stony hide off with my whip. What has happened to Anor Londo?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is now at over 40,000 words! The chapters have flown by when I have time to sit down and write. Only a couple more to the reunion now!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update:

Hey y’all! I moved out of my dorm and back home, so things have been hectic as hell these last few weeks. Things are settling down now and I’ve started work on a new chapter to be out soon in a few days’ time. 

Thank you all so much for your continued support and I’m sorry for all the delays, this last semester has kicked my ass. 

Have a great day!!


	28. One More Stop

I slice my falchion at the silver knight and ram my shoulder into his gut, sending him tumbling off the ledge as a gigantic arrow zips past me. I run around the corner and leap onto a balcony, rolling with the impact and bursting into the castle proper, chest heaving and falchion at the ready. Empty. Small relief, considering knights I served alongside suddenly want my head on a plate, and the “decorative” sets of giant armor Gwyn had around the castle have found inhabitants that are doing everything in their power to smash me to a pulp. This castle has turned into an utter deathtrap. 

I walk down the hall, straining my ears, and hear a fire crackling in the room to my left - used to be an office for Artorias. Door’s shut. I ready my falchion and kick the wooden door, which splinters and flies open. I rush in to find a bonfire and an old friend. 

“Lucky!” The knight’s sword is drawn, but sheathes it and throws his arms open. 

“Solaire!” I stow my weapons and embrace the knight. “Gods, it’s nice to see a friendly face. Er, visor.” Solaire chuckles and pats me on the back before heading to the bonfire. He looks good. No scrapes or tears on his armor or shield. The leather on my coat has long-since been burned, stained, and torn to pieces, although I’ve done my best to keep it and my other clothes maintained. 

“How has Anor Londo treated one of Gwyn’s Knights?” 

“Like a hammer treats a nail.” I sit down next to the knight and sigh, rubbing my eyes. “It’s been a slog to reach the castle proper. Everything in here seems Hell-bent on killing me. Not even the Silver Knights remember who I am, I had to kill a couple on my way in here. This place...it’s changed a lot.” Solaire nods empathetically. 

“I imagine it must be hard for you to see your home like this. Harder still to kill those knights.” 

“It is. It really, really is.” I laugh softly, running my hand through my hair. It’s either that or I start crying. All the time I spent with them training, learning, being taught the mysteries of Anor Londo from those who had been there since its inception reduced to a bloodstain on my falchion. “This whole situation is damned difficult.” Solaire remains quiet as I struggle to keep my composure. After a few seconds I decide the give up on this line of conversation entirely. “I’ve gotten my memory back.” 

“Really?” Solaire replies jovially. “That’s excellent news! What do you remember?” 

“More than I could hope to describe in the short amount of time we have.” I remember what Solaire mentioned last time we met, that worlds are constantly shifting, and our time together may be brief. “But all I’ve really been focused on is the fact that my best friend is right here in this castle.” 

“A better friend than me? I’m wounded!” Solaire clutches his chest in mock hurt. I chuckle and kick him lightly with my boot. He falls back to the floor, cursing me for my betrayal of his friendship. 

“Come on, you big baby. I knew him from before I was undead. Years before, in fact. He made living at Anor Londo bearable when Gwyn started to lose it and take it out on me.” Solaire sits up quickly, leaning forward. 

“You don’t mean Dragonslayer Ornstein?” 

“I do.” I’m grinning like a fool. “He gave me his ring, along with Artorias’, to ensure I returned from my last mission, the one where I...never mind. Not a pleasant memory. But he is here, in this castle! And after the Hell I’ve dragged myself through, it’s going to pay off!” 

I expect Solaire to respond with enthusiasm. Instead, he shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. He clears his throat and starts speaking, obviously putting an enormous amount of care into his words. 

“I sincerely hope your reunion is all you hope it is. It sounds like you cared about each other a great deal.” He extends a hand and takes mine, shaking it firmly. “I won’t keep you any longer. Safe travels, Lucky. If you’re ever in need of aid, don’t forget to look around for my summon sign. I’m always happy to help.” Smiling, but a little puzzled by his reaction, I stand and begin to walk briskly to the door, intent on reaching Ornstein as soon as possible. 

“Oh, wait! Don’t leave just yet!” I stop and Solaire stands up, patting his pockets frantically. “Earlier I found something that could help...ah, here it is!” Solaire withdraws a small glass vial from his pocket and walks forward. “It’s water blessed by Gwynevere, the Goddess of Bounty and Fertility. It will cure you of any ailments you may have.” I roll the vial in my hands in awe. Holy Water is exceptionally rare ever since Gwenevere fled the castle, which was before I was even born. To find a whole vial…

“I can’t take this.” I hand the water back. 

“But...why not?” 

“This is better than anything in our Estus flasks. You found it. It’s yours.” 

“Pah! This is a gift. I wish to see you again, and I can’t do that if you go about and get yourself poisoned or cursed or what have you.” 

“But-” 

“Either take it willingly, or I’ll tie it to you with leather straps.” I snatch the vial from Solaire's hand and do my best to look annoyed, but there’s no hiding how grateful I am. As soon as the vial’s secured the knight brings me in for another hug. “Be safe. I glimpsed Lautrec and a couple of unsavory types not long ago. Something’s off about that knight.” 

“More than you know.” I pat Solaire on the back and free my falchion from its scabbard. “See you soon, Solaire. Farewell.” I step out into the hallway, weapons at the ready, prepared to fight tooth and nail for my home.


	29. Killing the Golden Snake

The giant blacksmith picks up my weapons and armor between two massive fingers, dropping them at my feet. The leather on my armor has been repaired and reinforced, the soles on my boots are like new, and fingers on my gloves have been capped with iron. That’s not even mentioning my weapons - my falchion’s been sharpened and serrated along the back end of the blade, which is gonna cause some bad bleeding for anyone on the receiving end of it. My whip though...damn. Gwyn was right to use a giant for a blacksmith, he’s a genius at forging. The whip’s been oiled and the tip has been removed and in its place is a very large, very nasty steel spike with a barb halfway down it. A very nice upgrade to my personal armory, only costing me the souls of the batwing demons outside and minutes of my time as the giant worked at a mind-boggling pace. 

“Thank you kindly,” I tell him while I take off the rags I used to cover myself while my armor was being worked on and put on my improved pieces. 

“Always happy to help friend,” he says calmly, immediately returning to hammering more metal into weapons and armor. “Seen Gough?” 

“I’m sorry, no. I was hoping you had.” I glance at the massive ring leaning on the wall next to the blacksmith, which had belonged to the royal archer before he departed Anor Londo. Seems he had left it to his friend. The giant makes a noise of content acknowledgement. I don’t think much changes for the blacksmith as long as he can keep working. “I’m gonna go see Ornstein now. It was good to see you again.” 

“Good to see friend. Cometh soon.” I turn to the stairs and begin walking up. These steps lead to the great hall. Beyond that is the throne room, where Gwyn would hold audience, and beyond THAT are where the bedrooms are. Mere meters are left between me and Ornstein. My heart is in my throat and I’m borderline giddy with excitement. Before I know it I’m flying up the stairs, taking them three at a time, already beating myself up for the time I wasted with the blacksmith. I could have done that after! Whatever’s between me and Ornstein I could have handled it, all that did was delay me. 

I reach the top of the stairs and shoot to the left and am immediately brought to a halt by the sight of a silver knight. Dead as a doornail. He’s sprawled out on the stone landing, neat holes punctured in his armor from which fresh blood leaks out. I look out at the floor of the great hall, where I see two more brass sentinels. They’re as dead as the knight, a combination of magical burns, holes wrenched in the armor, and thin slices in the legs. Who could have done this? 

I ready my weapons and creep down the steps, newly cautious, all trace of excitement gone. It was probably Solaire, but I can’t be sure. It’s not until I reach the ground floor that I hear it two people arguing in hushed voices towards the closed door leading from the great hall to Gwyn’s throne room. I step away from the stairs and into the center of the hall. As soon as I see one of the three figures at the far end of the hall my hands tighten around my weapons. 

“LAUTREC!” 

The backstabbing bastard in the golden armor immediately ceases arguing with his companion and looks at me. His companions immediately flank to the side to cover more space and one of them, a sorcerer, readies his staff. The other has a long pike, which he plants over a heavy wooden shield. I hear a low chuckle escape his golden helm, bouncing off of the walls and lasting long after he’s stopped laughing, the echo haunting the hall as the knight speaks. 

“Look who it is. Finally remember me, eh?” His dual shotels hang by his side, blood dripping from the curved blades. “When I saw you in the Parish, I thought for sure you’d remember me. Luckily you’re just as stupid as you were when you were human.” 

“And you’re just as much of an evil bastard as you were back then, killing a young girl for no other reason than wanting to.” I start walking forward, slowly but surely, keeping an eye on the sorcerer for a warning sign that they’re about to fire. Lautrec scoffs.

“How naive can you be? Look around, boy! There is no good or bad! It’s all gone to Hell, and you’re an idiot if you still think otherwise. The only law left is power. If the girl couldn’t stop me, she deserved to die.” I take a quick step forward and the sorcerer raises his staff. I stop in my tracks and prepare to dodge. Lautrec raises a shotel and the sorcerer ceases his spell.

“I’m going to kill you.” My voice is trembling with rage. “I did it before. I can do it again.” 

“Pah! You killed me with a lowly surprise attack. Anyone can kill someone who isn’t paying attention. You wouldn’t last two seconds in a real fight. I’d kill you without a second thought if you hadn’t managed to get the drop on me, and I would gladly do it right now. However...no matter how much I would enjoy rending the flesh from your bones, I do owe you a debt. You released me from the Parish and allowed me to continue on my quest. I am honor-bound by my code of knighthood to allow you one chance to walk away, free from harm. One. Chance.” 

Lautrec and I stare at each other. The snake really expects me to believe he has newfound honor? Whatever he’s done since he’s become Undead, whatever master he began serving to allow him to move up from being a petty raider, it doesn’t matter. I can’t let him just get away with murdering the Fire Keeper and who knows who else because I’m afraid for myself. What he’s said about morals, about power...he’s just a bastard looking for justification. 

“Well?” Lautrec barks, getting impatient. “Will you choose to live another day?” I snort loudly and hock a wad of phlegm in his direction. 

“You have no honor, you cowardly son of a bitch.” 

“Oh, I was so hoping you would say that.” His shotels flash as he readies them and the sorcerer’s staff glows blue with energy. I set off at an angle towards the pike bearer, dodging the mage’s spelland moving faster than Lautrec in his armor. The soldier bends his knees, preparing a defense. I crack my whip and wrap it around the tip of the pike, yanking it forward. He’s got a strong grip, so it doesn’t come loose like I hoped, but it does pull him off-balance and not ready to make a strong lunge. Perfect. I keep tension on the pike and skirt to the side, getting the soldier between me and Lautrec, and cleave my falchion down. With a loud crack, the pike’s long shaft breaks. 

I leap back as Lautrec begins to lash at me with a flurry of blows. I keep backing up as quickly as I can, those shotels can tear flesh and rip muscle like nothing else short of a scythe. I pull my whip back but the head of the pike comes skittering back too. The whip’s new metal barb got lodged in the wood! I curse and pull back again, but Lautrec steps on the whip and I release it without a second thought. I’m not risking him getting in close. 

I leap to the side and sprint away from Lautrec, not wanting to get caught with my back to the wall. He hollers for me to come back and I hear his armor clang as he runs after me. I run right at the soldier, who attempts to swing his stick at me from behind the shield. Pathetic. I jump and kick the wooden shield and the soldier staggers back, falling with me on top of his shield. I plant my falchion in his throat before leaping off and making a beeline for the sorcerer, who responds by firing a volley of heavy soul spears my way. I dive to the ground but one clips my back. A unique burning sensation sears me and for a moment I fear my spine is broken, but when I shoot back up to my feet the worry is gone. I close the gap between me and the sorcerer and swing my sword. 

The Sorcerer’s shield snaps to the side and catches my sword, shooting it up over his head with a flick of his wrist. Before I can correct the sorcerer jabs and socks me in the nose with his fist. My eyes water up immediately and I lash out with my empty hand in return, hammering it painfully against the shield. The sound of Lautrec’s armor sounds loudly behind me and I spin around in a blind slash, blinking my eyes rapidly to clear the tears from my eyes. My vision gets a little clearer in time to see the shotel come down hard on my falchion and the other comes for my throat. I lean back but immediately get a boot in my back from the sorcerer. The shotel blade slices along my windpipe. A spurt of crimson paints Lautrec’s helm and the knight cackles. I suck in a breath but immediately cough up blood. I can’t breathe. I clasp my hand over the hole and back away as Lautrec slowly pursues me. 

“Do you feel death creeping in? Feel its hooks digging into your body?” I let go of my throat and dig into the inside of my coat, yanking out my Estus flask and yanking the stopper out with my teeth. “NO!” I take a swig before the shotel cleaves my hand and knocks the Estus flask clear across the hall. My hand hurts now, but at least I can breathe. I spit out the stopper and lunge forward with the falchion, wildly slicing to drive Lautrec back. After the first few swipes he plants his leg to counter-attack and my crazed frenzy of blows switches abruptly to a neat, precise thrust that catches him off guard. 

The falchion punctures Lautrec’s armor - not deeply enough to cause real damage, but as I rip the sword out blood clings to my blade. Good. I swiftly backstep to avoid a countering swing and boot Lautrec hard in the chest. Before I can follow up, a soul spear crashes into me and sends me flying. I roll when I hit the ground, my newly burned side and back making it utter agony. When I come to a stop I’m lying near the body of the soldier I killed. I quickly scramble over to my whip and snatch it up, bringing it around to smack Lautrec on the helm with the pike head still embedded in this whip. The impact from the heavy steel and wood dents the golden helmet and Lautrec grunts and stumbles. 

Right into my blade. 

I slice upwards and hack into his forearm. Lautrec howls and slashes, sticking his shotel into my back. Teeth gritted, I rip my sword out of his arm and bring the pommel down hard on his head once. Twice. On the third strike he finally loses his grip and falls on the floor moaning, weapons clattering next to him. I kick his Estus flask off of his belt and face the nearby sorcerer, who’s backing up and trying to cast another spell. 

“You!” I point my falchion right at him. “You’re next!” His staff glows bright and I quickly take a step, aim, and throw my sword like a javelin. It flies fast, but not before the soul spear shoots out. I dive to the side and it barely misses me. I roll to my feet and stand, facing the sorcerer skewered on my sword. 

I walk up to the sorcerer, who’s got blood leaking onto the floor, eyes wide in disbelief. I grip my sword tight and yank it out fast. The sorcerer drops like a sack of bricks. Just to be safe, I snatch his Estus flask off of his person. Not much left, but enough to patch myself up. I swallow what’s left to stop the bleeding on my hand and heal some of the more severe burns on my back. I turn back to the leader of this band of criminals to find him crawling towards his Estus flask. I walk towards him, my footsteps echoing in the silence of the hall. When I get close he stops. He’s panting now, gasping for breath. 

“I… I’ve failed you, my goddess.” Barely audible. He rolls over onto his back and stares straight at me. I can see his eyes through the slits of his visor. He’s scared. Good. 

My falchion comes down hard enough to crack the polished floor. Lautrec’s head rolls away from his body. The familiar rush of souls gives me some renewed vigor. Now all that’s left is to… is that a fire keeper soul? 

The glowing soul ebbs out of Lautrec’s chest. As soon as it’s out I grab it. Like the one in the Parish, it’s warm and dense without any real texture. I secure it in my jacket, taking care to make sure it won’t fall out. The Gods only know what I’m going to do with her, but I have to try something. Once the soul is in place I grab Lautrec’s Estus flask. His is almost full. Most of mine spilled when Lautrec knocked it out of my hand, but I when I pour in what belonged to Lautrec it’s filled to the brim. I stopper the flask and turn to the gigantic double doors and grin. I walk briskly up to them and place my hands on each side, heaving with all my might. 

I’m home, Ornstein.


	30. Slaying the Executioner

The doors swing open relatively easily. Heavy, but not rusty. Once there’s a space big enough to fit through I slip between the doors, stumbling and sucking in wind. 

“Ornstein!” I shout, straightening up. “I’m back! I’ve made it…” 

My mad dash slows to a stop and the words die in my throat as my gaze falls upon a mountain of brass armor at the far end of the throne room. By the Gods, could that be...Smough?! 

My suspicion is confirmed when the mountain of armor hoists a hammer the size of a boulder into his hands. The man is enormous. Far bigger than when I left, it looks like he swallowed a house. 

“Where’s Ornstein?” A hollow laugh is my only reply, the sound made hollow and inhuman from the inside of the cavernous armor. My heartbeat starts to spike. “Tell me!” I flinch when a cloud of dust explodes next to Smough, accompanied by a loud CRACK. As the dust begins to settle, I see the ivory tip of a spear reflect the light of the sun. Gradually more of the figure that plummeted down is revealed, and with every passing second my previous fear turns to joy. A bright red plume. A lion’s head. The body of the Dragonslayer. My old friend is still alive! Could have done without Smough remaining here, but I’ll take it. I start to stride over to Ornstein, pulling my mask down to my neck and moving my hood back. Ornstein, too, begins to walk towards me. 

“Good Gods, Ornstein, thank heavens you’re here! Are you okay? What happened here? Why are the silver knights trying to kill me? What…” There’s not an end to the questions that spill from my mouth as I draw closer to the knight, but when he’s at arm’s length words fail me. I just stand there, at a complete loss for anything to say that would express how good it is to see him, to be back home, to hopefully put this nightmare to rest. My last ounce of resolve vanishes and I practically tackle the knight in a hug, pressing my face against the cool chest piece of his armor. Ornstein looks down and I take a step back and try to catch his eyes through the small eyepieces in his armor. It’s been so long I can’t remember the color of his eyes, but I think they’re… white? 

Perfectly milky eyes stare out at me. Unblinking. Uncaring. 

“Ornstein…? What’s going on?” My blood runs cold as he raises his spear and grips it tightly in both hands, as he would facing a foe on the battlefield. Almost of their own volition, my legs begin to move me back. Ornstein matches me step for step, forcing me back to the door. Before I can exit he leaps forward, spear pointed. I launch myself to the side and Ornstein slams into the double doors, forcing them shut. No escape. 

“Words cannot save you now,” Smough bellows, hefting his hammer up and moving towards me, the room shaking with every step. “You will perish here, Lucky. Soon you’ll be nothing but an insignificant little stain in Gwyn’s great history!” I dodge another thrust from Ornstein and look back towards the knight. 

“Please, Ornstein. Don’t make me do this.” Pain explodes in my abdomen when a horizontal sweep of his spear catches me by surprise, cracking my ribs and cutting a nasty gash into my side. Time seems to slow down. The spear is ripping a massive hole in my side, but it’s crawling along. Smough’s barely moving, but appears to be in a full sprint. A cascade of emotions tear their way through my heart. I feel betrayed, I feel hurt, and I feel so angry I want to rip Smough’s spine out through his mouth and beat to death whoever did this to the one thing that has kept me going this far. 

I leap away from Ornstein and start to pull out my Estus flask, only to break into a full sprint away as Smough’s hammer crashes into the spot where I was. I take a fast swig and am immediately assaulted by a flurry of blows from the spear. My hands are shaky as the blows are blocked and deflected with my falchion. I choke back a sob and Smough’s hammer collides with me, sending my body halfway across the throne room. 

I hit the ground hard and do my best to roll with the momentum. I try to rebound onto my feet only for a mangled leg to collapse underneath me. Ornstein and Smough both begin to bear down on me as I scramble to uncork the Estus. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt panic. Hell, this isn’t the first time I thought I’d die. But this is the first time since a noose was wrapped around my neck and I was hung over Blighttown that I have felt total despair. For the briefest of moments, my hands stop fumbling with the cork. Everything’s been conspiring against me from the start. Every step of the way I have been beaten, broken, and cast aside even by the castle I once believed to be my home, only to find that my friend is gone and replaced by a mindless creature. My chest feels hollowed out and the feeling of resignation starts to creep over me.

The cork on my Estus flask pops open and I swallow as much as I can before I absolutely have to get out of the way. My leg snaps back into place and my wounds seal shut. I use my whip to redirect Ornstein’s spear and drop to the ground as Smough’s hammer passes overhead. The massive executioner chuckles as I dodge more of Ornstein’s attacks. 

“Dance, little human!” I back away from the duo, just barely avoiding their attacks. Death’s icy fingers wrap around my heart as my end looms before me. A blow from Ornstein’s spear catches me on the calf and jerks my leg out from under me, sprawling me out onto the floor. Smough bats Ornstein away from my body and readies himself for a killing blow, legs tensing. “I’m going to enjoy this!” He cackles, launching himself into the air, legs splayed to kill me via crushing me beneath his weight. 

As I see the executioner fly up, attempting to kill me in the most humiliating way possible, those icy fingers around my heart cease their assault and are replaced with… nothing. Pure apathy. Forget a hollow feeling, I am totally empty. My hands snap to either side of my body and heave as hard as they can, pushing me to my feet, which then spring me out of Smough’s path of destruction as he lands, making a crater in the floor and staggering Ornstein. I fly towards Smough as he struggles to get up and use his hand swatting at me as leverage, propelling myself off of a massive brass finger and firing my whip right at the head of his armor. The whip’s crack is deafening as the metal point breaks through the armor and anchors itself there, allowing me to yank hard and pull myself to the head. 

I pull the metal spike out and find the “head” is empty - the ray of light from the hole I made reveals an empty hull. The sound of electricity crackling gives me the forewarning to duck down and shimmy to the side, allowing Ornstein’s lightning bolt to strike and melt the head. A shout of pain and surprise comes from further down the armor. I look through the new hole Ornstein has made, holding on tight as Smough spins and does his best to dislodge me, batting at me with great, heavy strikes. Smough’s in there, alright - just not as big as he’d like his enemies to believe. His real eye holes are in the armor’s neck, but his eyes are glaring up at me as he desperately directs his arms to awkwardly contort in their armor to knock me off.

As I raise my falchion, the apathy implodes on itself as a burning sensation rips through my chest as I hack away at the empty head, free hand holding onto the shoulder for stability and whip coiled around my shoulder. The real emotion makes itself powerfully and painfully present as I shove the head off and stare down at Smough’s real skull, which is looking up at me in pure hatred as he does his best to kill me. I aim my falchion and an inhuman roar rips from my throat as the blade plunges downwards. 

A scream reverberates from inside Smough’s armor. I rip the falchion out, blood and bone clinging to the blade. A nasty cut on his skull, but not fatal. Smough cartwheels back, arms flailing, and for a second I get flashbacks of the Undead Asylum. Smough spins around and my foot slips, sliding down his shoulder until it catches on a clasp. An idea leaps to mind. I can’t reach down far enough to get a killing hit, but if I can detach the armor altogether I can end this.

Gripping the hole in Smough’s helmet with one hand, I slash at the clasp with my falchion, knocking it loose in two hits. I dodge another lightning bolt from Ornstein and swing around to Smough’s other side. Smough attempts to crush me against the wall but only succeeds in flattening my leg. I’ll be damned if that’s going to stop me. I destroy the second clasp and the top part of the armor begins to split apart. I ram my falchion into the crack, anchoring myself in Smough’s shoulder. The executioner screams again as I swing onto his back. Ornstein is ready to fight but can’t get a clear shot at me. 

Smough rams against the wall again but only succeeds in sinking the falchion further into his shoulder. I roll the whip off of my arm and pull it tight in Smough’s mouth like a bit in a horse. Smough is bucking wildly now, hammering me again and again into the wall, until one leg is completely smashed and the other is on its way. I rip the falchion out of his shoulder and a deranged smile sticks to my face while I line it up with his throat. My vision is pulsing and I feel dizzy from the blood loss. With my one half-decent leg I brace against Smough’s back. 

“You never were good enough to be a knight, Smough!” I release my grip on the whip and plant it on the serrated back side of the falchion. With my one leg I push as hard as I can while pulling the falchion back through the executioner’s neck. Another wound is sliced open on my hand from the sharp serrations as I strain from the effort. A dam breaks in my mind. Pain, white-hot rage, sorrow, all of it culminated into a single pained scream as the falchion tears through Smough’s throat. I fall off the executioner’s back, bloody and broken. Not a second later his head lands next to me, followed by his body topping in the other direction. My hand scrabbles for Estus out of sheer reflex, and once I get it I down what’s left in the bottle. 

I lie on the floor for a minute, chest heaving, before the Estus fixes the breaks and scrapes and lacerations and I force myself to my feet, armor in tatters, to find Ornstein standing over the body of Smough, appearing to be… almost in mourning. The knight lifts his hand and rests it on the executioner’s body. After a silent moment, a moment where I’m totally unsure what to do, Smough’s cadaver begins to glow and shrink. As the body shrinks, Ornstein grows at an impossible rate. He doubles, triples, quadruples in size until he’s bigger than Hawkeye Gough was. Ornstein levels his now-massive spear at me, white eyes dead and uncaring. Uncaring that his partner was brutally executed in front of him. Uncaring that his once-friend did it, and is now staring up at him. 

Wearily I ready my stance and raise my weapons. My emotions are deadened, used up as I killed Smough. Out of desperation, I make one last plea. 

“I don’t want to fight you, Ornstein. Please. Please, snap out of this.” Nothing. He’s waiting for me to make the first move. So be it. 

“I’m sorry, old friend.” My legs propel my body towards Ornstein as a lightning bolt illuminates the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have read ALL of your comments and I am so, unbelievably thankful. I've been working hard on this chapter and the next one will be out soon (wanted to avoid delays in posting). One more chapter for what we've been building up to! Don't worry, Lucky still has a ways to go, but this is what I've been most excited about. As always, thank you all!!!


	31. Ornstein

Ornstein’s spear strikes the marble floor, adding yet another crater to the already-pockmarked room. I do my best to leap onto it, but Ornstein manages to yank it out of the floor before I can get a good grip. Again. I’ve been at this for almost five minutes. Attacking Ornstein’s massive legs aren’t doing anything, my weapons aren’t heavy enough to pierce his armor. I need to get higher to get at the chinks in his armor, but that isn’t happening unless he takes me up there. 

This entire fight I’ve been praying for Ornstein to come to his senses, but it just isn’t happening. I’ve given up hope that he’s going to snap out of whatever trance he’s in and I’m done playing for time, this fight is about survival. I’m not getting out of here unless he’s dead or incapacitated. 

A bright glow illuminates the room. I dive behind a pillar for cover and the lightning bolt strikes it, sending chunks of marble flying in every direction. I think for the first time ever I might lose a fight due to physical exhaustion. I held back for a while, hoping that Ornstein would come to, and those precious minutes spent dodging, poking, and prodding his defenses drained my energy. I need to end this soon, or Ornstein will end it when I’m too tired to fight. I need to try something riskier. 

I get out into the middle of the throne room. I need to get Ornstein to stab at me with his spear again. Only this time, I won’t roll to the side. Don’t have time. Need to jump on it before he can pull it back. He always aims a little in front of me so I can’t dive under it. But I can jump on it. I put my weapons away and wait for my opportunity. 

I duck a couple of sweeps of the spear, waiting for the jab. He isn’t thinking, he won’t recognize patterns and stop jabbing with the spear. I just have to - there it is! Ornstein’s arm pulls straight back and I tense my legs. 

The spear rushes at me and I sprint forward to meet it. It moves so fast it’s almost a blur. I jump, using every ounce of strength in my legs to propel me up and hopefully out of reach of that gigantic spear. There’s a slight tug on my left leg, but I forget it as soon as my arms close around the shaft of the spear, right beneath the crossguard. Ornstein flicks the spear skywards and it takes all my strength to hold on, sliding closer to the knight’s hand when I settle back and begin inching down the shaft. Staring at me, Ornstein releases his grip on the spear with one hand and holds it up. Sparks start to form in the palm of his hand. I have to move quickly if I don’t want to be turned into a black smudge on his spear. 

I push myself up to my feet and take one step, only for my leg to give out under my weight. I hit the shaft hard and almost slip off the side, saved by my other leg hooking around to stop my fall. I look down at the one that gave out. Suddenly that tug I felt earlier there doesn’t seem so insignificant, as right below the knee, a chunk of skin, muscle, and bone the size of my fist has vanished from my leg, leaving a bloody, pulpy mass. Spear must’ve clipped me. 

Almost without thinking I swing back up to the top of the spear and start moving in an awkward crawl, bad leg dangling off of the side, other three limbs propelling me as fast as I can before the lightning bolt charges and I get fried. As I close in on Ornstein’s hand the bright yellow light fizzles out. Can’t fire it without hurting himself. I swing my whip off my shoulder and get ready to fire it at whatever it looks like it can attach to. 

I inch closer to the hand gripping the spear, debating about whether or not to try and move up the knight’s arm, when a shadow blocks out the sun coming in from the throne room windows. I look up to see the shape of a hand coming at me fast. I try to bring my whip back far enough to throw the end around Ornstein’s finger, but before I can his free hand wraps around my midriff. The panic resurges as I desperately try to escape his grasp, kicking one leg free, but his crushing grip remains steadfast around the one he already wounded. Then he pulls. 

Hard. 

My mind can’t process the pain at first. It manifests as a cry of agony so loud it hurts my own throat as my bones are snapped, my flesh is torn, and my muscles are ripped apart. My leg is pulled clean off and hurled across the throne room with such force it breaks a window and sails out of the castle. It’s all I can do to grip the spear and not fall to my death as my spurting blood paints the floor below. Completely unfazed, Ornstein’s hand closes around me a second time. He yanks my almost-limp form off of his spear, hand right under my arms. He knows my weapons can’t pierce his armor. Not only that, I am on Death’s door. If he wanted, Ornstein could leave me on the throne room floor and I’d bleed out in minutes. The wind whistles in my ears as he pulls me back, almost angrily, and me powerless to stop him. That is, until I see his eyes. 

The hole in Ornstein’s helmet that covers his eyes is normally minuscule. No way I could attack it. Fortunately for me, this isn’t normally. The eyeholes are now a good two feet across, and almost as wide. A beautiful opportunity. 

As I travel up, pulled up and off of Ornstein’s staff, I steel myself for a final act of defiance. I only have a window of a split second. Gotta make this count. I wind my arm back and crack it down as hard as I can. 

The metal tip scrapes against the armor and my heart skips a beat in terror before the screeching sound stops and the sudden jolt almost yanks my arm out of its socket as the whip finds its mark and a groan resonates from within Ornstein’s armor. Out of pure reflex he lets me go and takes a step back, clasping his hand to his eye. I swing on the end of the whip, pulling myself up as fast as possible. Turns out it’s faster to climb when you’re missing a limb. I chuckle darkly to myself as I reach the eyehole. Ornstein is now groping around his face in an attempt to find me. I quickly pull my falchion from its sheath, holding onto the eyehole as tightly as possible, and plunge it into the milky, already-damaged eye. This earns me a howl of pain as I slide down the whip, leaving my sword implanted in the eye. 

Ornstein’s hand snaps up to his eye to grab me and only succeeds in driving the sword deeper than I could hope to. Another groan comes from the Dragonslayer, this one more sluggish. His movements get slower. The mighty spear clatters deafeningly against the ground, which suddenly looks closer. The whip is clumsily pulled free by the knight and I fall to the ground, but the landing is far less severe than I anticipated. He’s returning to his normal size. 

I stay put, panting and trying to ignore the missing leg, as I watch Ornstein pitifully lose control of his functions and fall to his knees, fighting harder than I’ve ever seen to just stay upright as blood pours from a hole wrenched in helmet from my falchion as he shrank, the sword now lying some distance away, having been forced out during the shrink. He finally loses all strength and falls on his back, breastplate barely moving. I can hear his wheezing gasps from here. This hurts to watch. A once-proud man, a legend, and I reduced him to a husk. Guilt seizes me and I turn away as my guts empty themselves. 

I cough up the last bit of bile and wipe my mouth. Ornstein is still breathing. Damn it. I’m not going to just sit here. He deserves… no. I owe it to him to witness his death. 

I face the dying man and start to claw my way over, reaching inside my coat for the Blessed Holy Water to heal my wounds before I bleed out. I find it tucked away and pull it out as I reach Ornstein. The sight of him almost makes me recoil, but I force myself to face it. His left eye socket has been utterly destroyed. A gash runs down his face to his lip. The blood flow is slowing now. His breaths are getting weaker and weaker. My hand slowly reaches out and rests on the intact part of his helmet. 

“I’m so sorry, Ornstein.” A tear spills from my eye and I make no effort to wipe it away. He fought Eternal Dragons. He served Gwyn for ages. He was felled by a scared, inexperienced young knight who foolishly held onto an old, maybe false friendship as a source of hope when he should have known better and stayed far, far away from this place. Damn it. Gods. Damn it. He deserved so much better than me. 

Ornstein’s breath catches in his throat and his chest stops moving. I stay as quiet as possible, praying this isn’t his last breath. Hoping for a miracle. Hope that’s dashed when a death rattle passes Ornstein’s lips and his chest ceases movement. 

My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest. My physical pain pales in comparison to the sucking, vacuous hole that’s ripping everything away. It feels like it’s destroying my very humanity as the tears well up and my shoulders begin to shake as deep sobs rack my body. I can’t take my eyes off of him. Ornstein’s dead because of me. Maybe if I had hurried back faster he would have survived. Maybe if I didn’t leave for Blighttown at all. Maybe a million other things. But none of it would help as I watch the blood stop flowing and the whiteness fade from his eyes, revealing dark brown eyes that once sparkled, but are now - it’s gone. That whiteness in his eyes. It’s gone! 

I quickly check for a pulse in vain. Nothing. It’s just whatever had him fading after death. Even if he were revived, he’d be brain-damaged, blind… unless I could reverse that. 

I look down at the vial of holy water. Cures all ailments and repairs all bodily damage. I look at my missing leg, still bleeding profusely and now starting to make me dizzy with blood loss. Then I look at Ornstein. Without a second thought I pop the top open and pour almost all of the holy water into his mouth, exposed through the torn armor, and tilt his head up to help it run down his throat. The rest I pour over his wounds, which instantly causes the water to hiss and boil. 

“Come on, Ornstein. Come on. Please.” Every second without a change in Ornstein’s condition is torture as I feel my own heartbeat getting weaker and my breath getting shallow. I’m dying here too, I realize as my own strength wanes. “At least I tried,” I mutter to myself. 

A sudden cough makes my heart almost stop from the shock. For a moment I have no idea where it’s coming from until Ornstein props himself up on one elbow and starts hacking, spitting out blood and taking deep breaths. When he gathers himself and finally takes notice of me sees me he stands up slowly, healed eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Lucky?” 

I weakly raise my hand and grin, the happiest I’ve been in as long as I can remember. 

“Hey, Ornstein.” 

Then my vision goes black and I slump forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH. Getting to this spot has been an absolute joy, and I look forward to what's to come. Don't worry, this next part's going to be a good break from the fighting and a chance to get some character development and dialogue in. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did, thank you all for reading, and I read every comment!


	32. Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! This was supposed to be a brief chapter that quickly spiraled into the huge chapter I wrote instead. For the rest of this segment I'll try to chunk it better for faster releases. Thank you all so much for reading, it was an absolute joy to write this chapter!

A sharp sting jolts me awake. Barely. Am I awake? I feel like I just got woken up from an incredibly deep sleep. 

“Lucky! Are you with me?” The voice sounds like it’s coming at the end of a long tunnel. I can barely hear it. I shift a little and mumble an affirmation. My throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper, I can barely talk. Something is wrapped tightly and a little painfully around my thigh, and shortly after a pair of arms scoops me off of the ground. I try to open my eyes, but the effort to do even that seems enormous. Even once I get them open the world seems fuzzy and gray. I’m so tired. I just want to go back to sleep. I close my eyes and immediately feel myself being shaken until I open them again. “Hey, stay awake! Just a bit longer!” 

I hear the sound of stone scraping against stone. I’m brought into a narrow chamber of some sort. The light of the throne room is closed off and I’m in a narrow tube being raised up. I look up and make out Ornstein gazing upwards. He’s the one carrying me. I manage to open my mouth and croak out a noise but he immediately cuts me off. 

“Hush. Save your energy.” I gladly comply as the platform raising us stops its ascent and Ornstein steps out onto the balcony overlooking the throne room. My vision is getting worse and I can barely feel him laying me onto the stone. Everything’s going numb. My hand is laid on something cool. 

“Light it.” Light… what? I’m not a pyro… pyromage? Pyrowizard? Whatever they’re called. Getting difficult to think. A cold, metallic hand gently presses against my cheek. “Light the bonfire, Lucky.” 

Without even thinking, the beyond-familiar sting makes its way up my arm and I’m suddenly bathed in warmth. My breath gets more even. My vision gets better. I hear Ornstein sigh in relief as all of my functions return to a semblance of normal. My wounds stitch themselves closed and the blood stops leaving my body faster than I can replace it. I tighten my fist around the now-warm ash, reveling in the soft, comforting feel of it. I’m alive. Well, not exactly, but I’m not dead yet. 

After a few seconds my vision’s back to normal. I look over at Ornstein, who’s removed his helmet, allowing me to see his face for the first time in ages. The sunlight streaming through the window shines off of his clay-colored skin and illuminates his eyes. He hasn’t aged a day, no new wrinkles in his face or strands of gray in the dreadlocks tied tightly in a ponytail behind his head. I just stare at him, at a complete loss for words. His brow is furrowed as he watches me closely, slowly placing his helmet beside him.

“Is it… you? Do you remember who you are?” Ornstein asks hesitantly, deep voice clear and soft as he tries to be reassuring with a terrifying question. “You’ve been gone for a long time. Most people in your condition for as long as you have lost all memory, but-” 

Ornstein is cut off by me leaping at him. He starts to stand up, either to get away or fight, but stops when my arms wrap tightly around his neck. I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can, fighting off the urge to cry tears of joy. I did it. I fought my way through mobs of the insane, the diseased, the selfish and the downright evil to make it back to Anor Londo and see my friend again. When Ornstein returns my hug in kind I take a deep breath and let out a noise that’s half laugh and half sob. 

Neither of us speaks for the longest time. There aren’t any words that could describe the feeling that’s raging in my chest, a maelstrom of emotions that feels more like a physical force than anything else. I can’t tell what Ornstein’s thinking, but from how hard he’s hugging me I have a decent idea. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no control, I couldn’t stop myself from hurting you. I almost killed you. I would never-”

“I have your rings.” 

Ornstein stops his rambling instantly. He pulls back a little bit, enough to get a better look at my face, but keeps his hands clasped firmly on my shoulders.

“What are you talking about?” I relinquish my arms from around his neck and work his golden ring off of my finger, along with Artorias’. 

“Your rings. I came to return them. Made a promise, didn’t I?” I place the rings in Ornstein’s hand and the knight stares at them, dumbfounded, before a smile starts to spread across his face. Ornstein laughs - a deep and soothing sound - while he looks at the two rings resting on his palm, free hand rubbing his forehead. He puts his ring back on and pockets the ring that belonged to Artorias. 

“Lucky, I have a list of questions a mile long for you, and a list of apologies about double that. But right now…” Ornstein trails off and hugs me again. I eagerly respond in kind. When he pulls back I notice a layer of grime has appeared on Ornstein’s armor and embarrassment floods through me. Gods, when was the last time I felt embarrassed about my appearance? I try to wipe some off with my sleeve and only succeed in spreading more dried blood and muck onto Ornstein’s pristine armor. 

“Damn it. Sorry, Ornstein, but I have had to crawl through Hell to get here. Didn’t have a whole lot of time for a bath.” I laugh weakly but I think I can feel my cheeks starting to burn. I probably still reek of swamp. Ornstein sighs exasperatedly. 

“Lucky, it is beyond a miracle you’re here at all. What you went through I can’t imagine. If you seriously think I’m worried about a bit of dirt then you’ve gone Hollow.” Ornstein grips my arm and adjusts to pull me to my feet. “We have much to discuss. There are a few centuries worth of developments to catch you up on, but it can wait until-” 

“How long?” 

“Four or five hundred years, but that’s a pretty rough estimate. I stopped keeping track around a century. Why? What did you figure?” Ornstein’s small smile drops when he sees my face. 

“I’ve been gone… for centuries?” The information won’t process in my brain. I thought maybe a decade or so, but centuries? Hundreds of years? It certainly makes a lot more sense with how dilapidated everything’s gotten, but if that’s the case I should have been long, long dead or Hollowed away. Not sitting here in about the same condition as a demigod.

“Like I said. We have a lot to talk about,” Ornstein says softly. “But it can wait until you’ve washed, slept, and eaten.” 

“But-” 

“No buts. You have earned a break. When’s the last time you slept in a bed?” I can’t answer. “That’s what I thought.” Ornstein pulls me up and I fall into him when my legs fail me. I’m still exhausted from the fight. Ornstein puts my arm over his shoulder and helps lug me back to my old room. 

“I really missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Lucky.” 

Ornstein gets me to my bedroom and leans in the door as I walk unsteadily to the bathroom. He looks around at my room, which has been untouched since I left. Even the bed’s still just the slightest bit ruffled. I run a finger over my desk, which comes up with a thick layer of dust. Seems the cleaning service doesn’t make regular rounds during the end of the world. I’ll probably need to change my bedsheets too - but that can wait. 

“I hate to do this so soon, I really do, but I have to go take care of a couple of things. Think you’ll be okay by yourself while I go?” 

“Do you have to?” I really, REALLY don’t want to let him out of my sight. 

“I wouldn’t unless it was urgent, I promise. Besides, I’m sure you’d like some privacy to clean off.” He closes the door behind himself and a surge of warmth rushes through my body as I walk into my bathroom. I’m home. Back where I’m supposed to be. 

I undo the buckles and let the grime-covered leather coat fall onto the pristine white floor. Next is my shirt, which I have to practically peel off. Layers of dried muck, blood, and various other foul-smelling substances come off with it. Taking off my boots and socks is an odd experience, my skin isn’t sure how to react to the cool air. Last are my pants and undergarments. Once I assemble the lot into a heap I quickly toss them out of my bathroom window. I have clothes here. Better ones. And I’m not about to reek any longer than I have to. I start for the water collection tubs to fill the bath when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the washbasin and freeze. 

I… have definitely seen better days. My hair is matted and twisted into knots and absolutely caked with dirt. My face is similarly filthy, with dark circles under my bagged eyes. My scar’s barely visible underneath the dirt and a thin growth of stubble. My chest is cleaner, but still not great. Lash marks from my time in the Carim camp are still faded, but I do have some new scars from the multitude of wounds I’ve sustained since then. Hell, I think I’m more scar tissue than skin. Not to mention my borderline emaciated look from my steady diet of Estus and moss. The skin is stretched thin over my ribs and stomach, a patchwork of bruises, scars, and tans from the sun peeking through rips in my armor. Arms and legs are the same. The Darksign burns angrily on my chest. Damnit. Not exactly in my prime. 

I tear my eyes away from my figure and walk over to the large marble pool of water by the permanently-open window, used to collect the semi-frequent rains in Anor Londo for personal use. A number of floating plants help keep the water clean. Even after all this time the water in the pool is still crystal clear. I pick up the bucket by the pool and start to fill the brass tub in the center of the room. My body’s movements become automatic as I repeat the process I’ve done countless times until the tub is full. I grab a bar of soap beside the washbasin and ease myself into the tub, teeth clenched as I sink into the chilly water and start to scrub my skin with the soap, rapidly staining the clear water. Usually the water would be heated by a hot coal encased in a brass cage, but without pyromancies or a service staff that becomes nigh-impossible for me at the moment. 

After a few minutes, however, it becomes heavenly, especially when I sink my head under the water and tear at my mangy hair, loosening the knots and mats riddled through it. I’m relaxing for the first time in ages as I clean myself. Not just rinsing off my hands and face in a semi-clean puddle or scraping dirt from under my fingernails with a knife, getting REALLY clean. By the time I manage to pull myself out of the bath and shake out a towel enough to use it without covering myself in dust, the water is now almost completely opaque and I feel like a new man. I throw the dirty bathwater out of the window and trudge into the bedroom, where an envelope on my bed catches my eye. 

I walk over and find a yellowed envelope next to a new piece of parchment, the ink still wet as I read it aloud to myself. 

"I didn’t want to disturb you while you were in the bathroom. I meant to give you this when you returned from Blighttown, but now will have to do. I hope you find it to your liking.  
Ornstein"

I put the page aside and work the ancient envelope open, working around the wax sealing it closed until I can get at a letter inside, delicately unfolding it. A ring falls out of the bottom when I open it. It’s the same gold design all of Gwyn’s knights had, only this one is pressed with a fox circling the face. I turn my attention to the letter and start to read. 

"Lucky,  
At first, I didn’t understand why Artorias pushed for you to fill in the absence at Anor Londo over other older, seemingly more qualified candidates with years of specialized training. I agreed to take you over Smough due to my belief that you were the lesser of two evils. Since then, I have seen how wrong I was. You were not the lesser of two evils. You were a fantastic find by Artorias and a worthy addition to Gwyn’s knights. 

"Despite how Gwyn acts towards you, you have shown more spine than most Gods and demigods in this castle. Your tactics are unconventional, but highly effective. It took no time at all for you to earn the respect of your soldiers. For these reasons and more, I wish to bequeath you with a prize you should have received the second you took your oath: A ring of your own, emblazoned with the fox as a sign of your cunning. May it grant you quick wit and many more victories. 

"Just don’t let it go to your head.

Your friend,  
Ornstein"

I read the letter over and over again. It’s short, but it… it’s amazing. Not to mention the ring, which fits perfectly on my finger and radiates warmth, just like the rings I had in the asylum did. I put the letter on the nightstand next to my bed and stare at it for a while before getting dressed. 

I get dressed in one of my old linen shirts and pants before changing the sheets on the bed, which takes every ounce of willpower I have left. Once clean, non-dusty sheets are around my bed I lay down. A smile crosses over my face as I look around my room. I did it. I am home. And good Gods am I tired. I’m on a bed for the first time in forever. Before I know it, I’m in a deep, dreamless sleep in my own bed.


	33. A Decent Meal

I open my eyes to find the room exactly as I left it when I fell asleep. The bright sun is still streaming through the windows as I sit up in bed and stretch. Dear Gods, I feel refreshed. Sleeping in an actual bed for once has reinvigorated me almost as much as a Bonfire, with the added bonus that I’m clean and my eyes don’t feel like sandpaper. I clamber out of my bed and throw on something a little more dignified than my undergarments to go and look for Ornstein, which ends up being simple brown trousers and a white linen shirt with wool socks. Don’t feel like wearing my boots. Hell, I don’t even bother strapping my weapons on as I walk out of my room. 

I find Ornstein shortly after leaving, sitting in his room and polishing his armor. The hole I wrenched in his helm has been seamlessly repaired and now glistens in the sun from the new coat of polish. I knock on the door and the knight jumps a little, but breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it’s me. 

“Sorry. I’m used to being alone, you spooked me for a second.” Ornstein stands up and smiles as he examines me. “Feel good to get clean and get some sleep?” 

“You have no idea.” 

“I have some. You were out for almost two days.” Ornstein laughs when he sees the expression on my face. “Don’t worry, you really didn’t miss anything. I’m just glad you’re back in the land of the living. And you have the ring!” I hold the ring up and grin as I look over it once again. 

“It’s beautiful, Ornstein. Thank you.” 

“Don’t. You deserved it a long time ago.” Ornstein puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me to his balcony. “Now before we dive into the ocean of questions I’m sure we both have, I think we should have some breakfast. How do eggs and bacon sound?” 

“Are you sure I haven’t died and gone to heaven?”

* * *

I swallow the last sip of cool, fresh water and lie back in my chair. This meal was heavenly. The last real food I had to eat was mushroom stew in the Goddamn sewers, which utterly pales in comparison to the hard-boiled eggs, fresh fruit, and juicy bacon that I just devoured. I lean back in my chair and sigh in contentment. I don’t think it does anything for me, but damn it if it doesn’t taste good. Ornstein looks on at me and my empty plate with amusement. 

“How did this stuff keep for so long?” I ask in amazement. 

“It didn’t. This is all fresh.” Ornstein finishes of his apple and throws the core over the balcony. “The farms all kept themselves going, even after the caretakers started going Hollow. Animals got out of their enclosures and fed on the overgrown crops. Sure, it won’t feed a castle anymore, but it hardly has to, does it?” As he finishes his statement he throws his dirty plate over the side as well. When he sees my shocked expression he just shrugs and stands up. “Come on. Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable.” 

Ornstein leads me into his room and sits down on a cushioned wooden chair, beckoning for me to sit across from him. I do so and wait as Ornstein takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts. 

“What happened to you in Blighttown?” 

“I was found out by some of my old soldiers and attacked. It was my own fault, I flat out asked if there was an insurrection against the Gods because one of them was nice to me.” 

“Never was one for subtlety, were you?” I grin ruefully and shake my head. 

“I was a general, not an assassin. Anyway, they attacked me. Beat me something horrible for the Undead searches I set out among the ranks. Once they broke my nose and had a black bag over my head, they marched me out in full view of the town, wrapped my whip around my neck, and pushed me off a ledge. Neck snapped as soon as it pulled tight.” All traces of humor vanish from Ornstein’s face. 

“Good Gods. That’s awful.” 

“At least it was quick. After that, I came to being dragged out of the sewer by two of the soldiers. When they realized I was alive they decided the Asylum was a worse punishment than just dumping me in the swamp, and to make sure no one realized I was one of Gwyn’s knights they did… this.” I point to the long, jagged scar across my face. So far I’ve been passionless while describing the attack, but for some reason that detail makes my throat throb a little bit. I quickly clear it and rap the table with my knuckle. 

“Details get fuzzy after that. The next few centuries just sort of run together. All I remember is that I needed to get those rings back to you. I finally escaped when a knight dropped me the key to salvation. After escaping stuff started returning to me. Now I’m back here.” I smile, still fighting a growing urge to cry. Why now, damn it?! I’ve held it together for so long. Ornstein’s face is etched with worry. Before he gets too concerned I try to break the tension with a bad joke: “I don’t think the scar hurts me that much in terms of looks. I already had an ugly mug. The least it can do is add character, right?” 

Ornstein’s dead serious. I’m immediately embarrassed from my bad excuse of a joke when he completely ignores it and leans forward, looking down at the table and using his fingers to sketch a map in his head. 

“Gwyn detailed the path from the Asylum to here before he left. You had to go back through Blighttown, correct?” 

“Yes. It’s where I got my weapons back.” 

“That must have been… horrible.” 

“It nearly killed me. Again.” Ornstein lets out a humorless bark of laughter. 

“I don’t even want to think about what it must have been like, clawing your way through all of that to get here, dying over and over-” 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

“You and other Undead dying again and again. It’s horrible, I would have Hollowed long ago.” 

“I haven’t died after I was hung the first time.” Ornstein’s look of shock is so startling I almost start to panic. “Wait, I can die? Without… dying for good?” 

“Yes! Oh, Gods, the panic you must have felt - yes. Death isn’t the end for you Undead. You come back at one of the Bonfires. You mean you actually haven’t died since leaving the Asylum?” 

“I’ve come damn close!” All this time, all this worrying, and I could’ve been dying and coming back fine. That would have been nice to know while I was running around on a splintered shin in Blighttown. 

“No doubt you did. But dying still comes with serious consequences. All the souls you’ve gotten from those you’ve killed are gone, and you start becoming Hollow again, decayed and insane. You want to stay as you are.” I’m sent reeling by this information. No wonder Solaire and Siegmeyer are so nonchalant about their adventures. As long as they’re aware of this too, that is. Ornstein continues talking once he sees that it’s set in. 

“I can explain it to you more in-depth later, but all you need to know right now is that it’s all designed to herd you and weed out the weak. Sen’s Fortress. The Swamp. All of it. Just… Gods. It’s disgraceful how Gwyn… no, all of us up here… treat humans. Like cattle.” Ornstein puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. 

“I know,” I say quietly. After coming here, I changed as a leader. I took riskier missions and the news that I lost soldiers was less concerning than whether or not the mission was successful. For a while neither one of us speaks, unsure how to proceed, before I clear my throat and ask one of the many questions I have for Ornstein: “What happened to you while I was gone? Why were you so aggressive when I met you and Smough?” 

“Ah. That would be Gwyndolin’s doing. At my request.” 

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Short version? I was unable to perform my duty to protect the castle. The long version is one Hell of a story, but something tells me you signed up for that.” Ornstein’s face loses some of its seriousness as he undoes the band holding his dreadlocks in place and they fall behind his shoulders. “That’s better, I can’t tell you how long my hair’s been up like that.” 

“Few centuries?” 

“Ha! No, not quite that long.” Ornstein runs his fingers through his dreadlocks and I find my urge to cry is, thankfully, retreating while he collects his thoughts. “Okay. Here goes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was originally going to be a lot longer, but as I wrote it I realized it'd be easier to split it up. So the next chapter is about a page done and will go into (what I believe) Anor Londo between Lucky's departure and return. Thank you all, the reception on my last chapter was incredible!


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